A  Defense  of  Poetry  is  the  only  entirely  finished  prose  work 
Shelley  left.  In  this  we  find  the  reverence  with  which  he 
regarded  his  art.  We  discern  his  power  of  close  reasoning, 
and  the  unity  of  his  views  of  human  nature.  The  language  is 
imaginative,  but  not  flowery ;  the  periods  have  an  intonation 
full  of  majesty  and  grace ;  and  the  harmony  of  the  style  being 
united  to  melodious  thought,  a  music  results,  that  swells  upon 
the  ear,  and  fills  the  mind  with  delight. 

MRS.  SHELLEY,  Preface  to  Essays,  etc.,  by  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 

To  prefer  or  to  equal  Shelley's  prose  to  his  poetry  is  a  merely 
uncritical  freak  of  judgment.  His  prose  is,  however,  of  excel- 
lent quality,  both  in  his  letters,  which  are  among  the  most  charm- 
ing of  their  kind,  and  in  his  too  few  essays  and  miscellaneous 
writings.  SAINTSBURY,  Specimens  of  English  Prose  Style,  p.  342. 

The  mere  whim,  the  bare  idea,  that  poetry  is  a  deep  thing,  a 
teaching  thing,  the  most  surely  and  wisely  elevating  of  human 
things,  is  even  now  to  the  coarse  public  mind  nearly  unknown. 
.  .  .  All  about  and  around  us  a  faith  in  poetry  struggles  to  be 
extricated,  but  it  is  not  extricated.  Some  day,  at  the  touch  of 
the  true  word,  the  whole  confusion  will  by  magic  cease ;  the 
broken  and  shapeless  notions  will  cohere  and  crystallize  into  a 
bright  and  true  theory.  BAGEHOT,  Literary  Studies,  2.  339-341. 


A    DEFENSE    OF    POETRY 


EDITED 

WITH    INTRODUCTION   AND   NOTES 
BY 

ALBERT  S.   COOK 

PROFESSOR  OF  THE    ENGLISH    LANGUAGE  AND   LITERATURE 
IN   YALE   UN1VERSITV 


BOSTON,  U.S.A. 

PUBLISHED   BY  GINN   &  COMPANY 
1891 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1890,  by 

ALBERT  S.   COOK, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 


TYPOGRAPHY  BY  J.  S.  GUSHING  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 
TRESSWORK  BY  GINN  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

EDWARD    ROWLAND    SILL 

A  DEFENDER  OF  POETRY 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION vii 

Style vii 

Shelley's  Views  in  Comparison  with  Sidney's xvii 

The  Provinces  of  Inspiration  and  of  Labor xx 

ANALYSIS xxvii 

A  DEFENSE  OF  POETRY i 

THE  FOUR  AGES  OF  POETRY 47 

NOTES 63 

INDEX  OF  PROPER  NAMES  .  81 


INTRODUCTION. 


i .   STYLE. 

SHELLEY'S  prose,  though  by  no  means  excessively  ca- 
denced  or  adorned,  has  yet  some  of  the  marks  and  qualities 
of  poetry.  It  can  scarcely  be  called  poetic  prose,  as  much 
of  Ruskin's  might  not  unfairly  be  styled  ;  nor  does  it  answer 
in  all  respects  to  the  accepted  notions  of  a  poet's  prose. 
Perhaps  its  characteristic  has  been  sufficiently  defined  by 
himself  in  his  own  discussion  of  the  '  vulgar  error '  that 
prose  can  never  be  the  vehicle  of  an  essentially  poetic  con- 
ception. In  this  discussion  he  does  not  shrink  from  definite 
statements  and  concrete  examples  (9  &-si)  :  "  Plato  was 
essentially  a  poet  —  the  truth  and  splendor  of  his  imagery, 
and  the  melody  of  his  language,  are  the  most  intense  that  it 
is  possible  to  conceive.  .  .  .  He  forbore  to  invent  any  regu- 
lar plan  of  rhythm  which  would  include,  under  determinate 
forms,  the  varied  pauses  of  his  style.  Cicero  sought  to 
imitate  the  cadence  of  his  periods,  but  with  little  success. 
Lord  Bacon  was  a  poet.  His  language  has  a  sweet  and 
majestic  rhythm  which  satisfies  the  sense.  ...  All  the 
authors  of  revolution  in  opinion  are  not  only  necessarily 
poets  as  they  are  inventors,  .  .  .  but  as  their  periods  are 
harmonious  and  rhythmical." 

The  author  himself  has  thus  enunciated  two  criteria  which 
may  be  applied  to  the  prose  written  by  a  poet  or  in  a  poetic 
mood  : 

1.  Truth  and  splendor  of  imagery. 

2.  Melody  or  rhythm,  varied,  —  indeterminate,  and  in- 
imitable. 


viii  INTR  OD  UCTION. 

That  Shelley's  prose  imagery  possesses  both  truth  and 
splendor  there  can  be  no  question.  Mrs.  Shelley,  surely  not 
an  incompetent  critic,  distinctly  attributes  to  his  language 
both  the  qualities  just  mentioned,  and  it  needs  no  exhaus- 
tive scrutiny  'to  determine  that  for  these  qualities  his  lan- 
guage is  chiefly  indebted  to  its  figurative  expressions.  In 
the  preface  to  her  edition  of  his  essays,  she  says :  "Shelley 
commands  language  splendid  and  melodious  as  Plato." 

The  imagery  of  this  essay  always  completes,  if  it  does  not 
effect,  the  revelation  of  its  author's  thought.  A  mind  of 
more  prosaic  temper  might  attain  equal  clearness  without 
the  employment  of  metaphorical  language,  but  clearness 
may  in  such  cases  be  gained  at  the  expense  of  suggestive- 
ness.  There  is  a  creeping  clearness,  as  there  is  a  volant 
amplitude  of  vision,  no  less  certain  than  that  of  the  eagle 
when  he  swoops  magnificently  down  upon  his  prey  from  the 
central  deeps  of  air.  It  is  the  latter  that  Shelley  possesses, 
and  herein  he  reminds  us  of  Shakespeare  when  the  great 
dramatist  is  most  felicitous  in  wedding  virile  thought  to  the 
clinging  beauty  of  tropical  language.  In  Agamemnon's 
speech  to  his  auxiliar  kings,  Shakespeare  makes  him  thus 
eloquently  illustrate  a  commonplace  heroic  :  — 

\Vhy  then,  you  princes, 

Do  you  with  cheeks  abashed  behold  our  works, 
And  think  them  shames,  which  are  indeed  nought  else 
But  the  protractive  trials  of  great  Jove, 
To  find  persistive  constancy  in  men? 
The  fineness  of  which  metal  is  not  found 
In  fortune's  love;   for  then  the  bold  and  coward, 
The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread, 
The  hard  and  soft,  seem  all  affined  and  kin; 
But,  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown, 
Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Puffing  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away; 
And  what  hath  mass  or  matter  by  itself 
Lies  rich  in  virtue  and  unmingled. 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

Now  it  is  no  sufficient  objection  to  the  dramatist's  use  of 
figurative  language  to  say  that  all  this  expenditure  of  words 
is  but  the  amplification  of  a  single  short  sentence,  "  Adver- 
sity distinguishes  the  hero  from  the  poltroon."  Nor  is  it  an 
answer  to  say  that  such  introduction  of  metaphor  is  suitable 
to  poetry,  but  not  to  prose,  else  what  censure  must  be  pro- 
nounced on  such  an  evident  metaphor  as  this,  "  Whose  fan 
is  in  his  hand,  and  he  will  thoroughly  purge  his  floor,  and 
gather  his  wheat  into  the  garner ;  but  he  will  burn  up  the  chaff 
with  unquenchable  fire?"  We  praise  the  aptness,  as  well  as 
the  beauty,  of  Jeremy  Taylor's  famous  simile  :  "  For  so  have 
I  seen  a  lark  rising  from  his  bed  of  grass,  soaring  upwards 
and  singing  as  he  rises  and  hopes  to  get  to  heaven  and 
climb  above  the  clouds ;  but  the  poor  bird  was  beaten  back 
with  the  loud  sighings  of  an  eastern  wind  and  his  motion 
made  irregular  and  inconstant,  descending  more  at  every 
breath  of  the  tempest  than  it  could  recover  by  the  vibration 
and  frequent  weighing  of  his  wings,  till  the  little  creature 
was  forced  to  sit  down  and  pant  and  stay  till  the  storm  was 
over ;  and  then  it  made  a  prosperous  flight  and  did  rise  and 
sing  as  if  it  had  learned  music  and  motion  from  an  angel  as 
he  passed  sometimes  through  the  air  about  his  ministries 
here  below.  So  is  the  prayer  of  a  good  man,"  etc.  But  if 
we  admire  the  fitness  of  this  image,  there  is  no  room  left 
for  us  to  condemn  the  not  dissimilar  expressions  of  Shelley  : 
"  The  world,  as  from  a  resurrection,  balancing  itself  on  the 
golden  wings  of  knowledge  and  of  hope,  has  reassumed  its 
yet  unwearied  flight  into  the  heaven  of  time.  Listen  to  the 
music,  unheard  by  outward  ears,  which  is  as  a  ceaseless  and 
invisible  wind,  nourishing  its  everlasting  course  with  strength 
and  swiftness." 

But,  indeed,  there  is  no  necessity  of  defending  figurative 
language  on  the  score  of  its  services  to  truth,  so  long  as  we 
can  appeal  to  the  example  of  England's  most  philosophical 
politician.  Burke,  in  his  Letter  to  a  Noble  Lord,  does  not 


x  INTRODUCTION. 

shrink  from  the  employment  of  a  trope  hardly  less  elaborate 
than  those  that  have  just  been  cited,  and  no  one  has  yet 
been  bold  enough  to  censure  him  for  temerity,  or  to  insinuate 
that  he  could  more  exactly  have  conveyed  his  thought  by 
eschewing  the  ornaments  of  verse.  Rising  to  the  demands 
of  the  occasion,  Burke  says  :  "  But  as  to  our  country  and 
our  race,  as  long  as  the  well-compacted  structure  of  our 
church  and  state,  the  sanctuary,  the  holy  of  holies  of  that 
ancient  law,  defended  by  reverence,  defended  by  power,  a 
fortress  at  once  and  a  temple,  shall  stand  inviolate  on  the 
brow  of  the  British  Sion  —  as  long  as  the  British  monarchy, 
not  more  limited  than  fenced  by  the  orders  of  the  state, 
shall,  like  the  proud  Keep  of  Windsor,  rising  in  the  majesty 
of  proportion,  and  girt  with  the  double  belt  of  its  kindred 
and  coeval  towers,  as  long  as  this  awful  structure  shall  over- 
see and  guard  the  subjected  land  —  so  long  the  mounds  and 
dykes  of  the  low,  fat  Bedford  level  will  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  all  the  pickaxes  of  all  the  levelers  of  France." 

Is  Shelley's  imagery  splendid?  If  not  splendid,  it  is  at 
least  generally  beautiful,  and  bears  an  obvious  resemblance  to 
that  of  his  poetry.  Many  of  his  illustrations  are  drawn  from 
light,  fire,  the  wind,  music,  birds,  and  flowers.  It  would  be 
an  agreeable  and  instructive  task  to  make  a  collection  of  his 
metaphorical  phrases,  to  trace  his  indebtedness  to  the  Bible 
and  other  classics,  and  to  spell  out  the  character  of  his 
genius  in  the  light  of  his  similes,  but  we  cannot  afford  our- 
selves the  indulgence  in  this  place. 

We  pass  now  to  the  second  head,  that  of  melody  or  rhythm. 
The  inference  from  his  words  is  that  the  rhythm  of  a  poet's 
prose  is  inimitable,  because  varied  and  indeterminate.  Varied 
and  indeterminate  it  may  be,  but  no  less  unmistakable.  The 
melody  of  Shelley's  language,  if  not  "  the  most  intense  that 
it  is  possible  to  conceive,"  is  sufficiently  intense  to  differen- 
tiate it  from  ordinary,  plodding,  work-a-day  prose,  and  to 
seem,  as  indeed  it  is,  "  an  echo  of  the  eternal  music."  This 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  xi 

melody  is  heard  at  its  best  in  sentences  like  the  follow- 
ing :— 

"  The  Past,  like  an  inspired  rhapsodist,  fills  the  theatre  of 
everlasting  generations  with  their  harmony." 

"  Its  secret  alchemy  turns  to  potable  gold  the  poisonous 
waters  which  flow  from  death  through  life."  (Perhaps  sug- 
gested by  such  Shakespearean  lines  as  M.N.D.  3.  2.  391  : 
"Turns  into  yellow  gold  his  salt  green  streams  "  ;  Sonn.  33. 
3  :  "  Gilding  pale  streams  with  heavenly  alchemy"  ;  K.John 
3.  i.  77,  etc.). 

Still  more  striking  than  these  are  the  two  sentences  cited 
on  p.  i. 

It  will  be  observed  that  sentences  of  this  order  have  a 
sustained  flight,  like  that  of  the  bird  of  paradise,  which  is 
fabled  never  to  touch  the  earth,  or  rather,  if  we  may  adapt 
Jeremy  Taylor's  simile,  already  quoted,  like  the  impulsive 
soaring  of  the  lark,  which  ever  and  anon  returns  to  the 
meadow  whence  it  sprang,  and  does  not  at  once  shake 
itself  free  of  its  lowly  surroundings,  but  which  exults  in  its 
spacious  liberty  when  the  earth  has  fairly  been  left  behind, 
and  with  glad  pulsations  lifts  itself  higher  and  higher  into 
the  immeasurable  profound  of  air.  Sentences  like  those 
quoted  above,  when  examined  with  reference  to  their  pauses, 
are  seen  to  have  no  natural  caesura  near  the  end.  They 
spring  through  a  short  clause,  or  a  succession  of  them,  to  a 
coign  of  vantage,  and  thence  set  out  on  an  aerial  journey 
which  halts  not  till  it  ends.  No  antithesis  marks  their  close, 
no  qualifying  clause  slipped  in  almost  at  the  last  moment, 
no  suspension  which  throws  the  verb,  with  an  abrupt  break, 
to  the  very  end,  no  explicative  remark  intended  merely  to 
confirm  or  extend  that  which  precedes,  no  correlative  added 
for  the  sake  of  more  perfect  balance.  Examples  of  such 
broken  endings  might  readily  be  adduced,  and  I  select  from 
Ruskin's  Sesame  and  Lilies  an  instance  to  illustrate  each  of 
the  foregoing  heads  :  — 


xii  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

"  Strong  always  to  sanctify,  even  when  they  cannot  save." 

"  A  broken  metaphor,  one  might  think,  careless  and  un- 
scholarly." 

"  And  sown  in  us  daily,  and  by  us,  as  instantly  as  may  be, 
choked." 

"  Only  so  far  as  may  enable  her  to  sympathize  in  her 
husband's  pleasures,  and  in  those  of  his  best  friends." 

"  We  gloat  over  the  pathos  of  the  police  court,  and  gather 
the  night-dew  of  the  grave." 

It  is  impossible  to  lay  down  any  rule  for  the  construction 
of  prose  rhythms.  If  such  a  rule  could  be  deduced,  the 
rhythm  would  no  longer  be  varied  and  indeterminate.  Still 
an  examination  of  the  final  sentences  of  Shelley's  paragraphs 
is  instructive  with  reference  to  the  means  by  which  the  con- 
tinuous harmony  is  so  long  maintained.  When  the  final 
clause  exceeds  the  ordinary  length  and  is  interrupted  by  no 
appreciable  caesura,  it  will  frequently  be  found  that  it  con- 
tains a  succession  of  two  or  more  prepositional  phrases, 
more  rarely  that  the  place  of  the  first  prepositional  phrase  is 
occupied  by  a  noun,  the  subject  or  object  of  a  verb,  with  or 
without  one  or  more  attributive  adjectives,  or  that  the  second 
prepositional  phrase  is  adverbial  in  its  function.  Nor  is  it 
alone  in  the  final  sentences  of  Shelley's  paragraphs  that  such 
constructions  appear  to  be  typical.  Other  instances  are  :  — 

"  Become  as  generals  to  the  bewildered  armies  of  their 
thoughts." 

"And  gathers  a  sort  of  reduplication  from  the  com- 
munity." 

"  It  must  be  impanelled  by  Time  from  the  selectest  of  the 
wise  of  many  generations." 

"  The  receptacle  of  a  thousand  unapprehended  combina- 
tions of  thought." 

"  To  have  abdicated  this  throne  of  their  widest  domin- 
ion." 

"  Out  of  a  chaos  of  inharmonious  barbarisms." 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  xiii 

But  the  moment  a  serious  attempt  is  made  to  establish 
the  universality  of  such  a  supposed  rule,  that  moment  disap- 
pointment is  likely  to  overtake  the  observer,  and  to  nip  in 
the  bud  any  future  endeavors  to  determine  even  the  most 
elementary  laws  of  verbal  harmony  in  prose.  Yet,  confined 
within  proper  limits,  such  endeavors  need  not  be  unprofit- 
able ;  they  should  be  judged  in  the  light  of  the  inquiries, 
extending  over  centuries,  and  still  continued,  into  the  rhythms 
of  Lysias  and  Demosthenes,  and  it  should  not  be  hastily  con- 
cluded that  what  is  advantageous  in  Greek  becomes  a  vanity 
and  a  delusion  in  English. 

Shelley's  attachment  to  a  few  favorite  images  leads  him, 
as  has  been  already  intimated,  into  repetition.  As  the  most 
intricate  musical  compositions  are  built  up  out  of  the  few 
notes  of  the  scale,  so  poets,  even  when  writing  prose,  appear 
to  have  a  few  simple  elements  to  which  they  frequently  re- 
turn, and  to  vary  and  modulate  upon  a  few  primary  chords. 
Among  Shelley's  key-words  are  '  harmony,'  '  harmonious,' 
'rhythm,'  'order  or  rhythm,'  'rhythm  and  order.'  Akin  to 
this  practice,  but  yet  different  from  it,  is  that  of  repeating 
certain  syllables  or  sounds,  simply  because  the  echo  of  them 
still  lingers  in  the  ear.  Whether  Shelley's  use  of  the  figure 
of  polysyndeton,  especially  in  the  case  of  '  and,'  is  to  be 
referred  to  this  cause,  may  be  allowed  to  remain  an  open 
question.  But  other  instances  are  less  doubtful,  and  can 
only  be  regarded  as  blemishes,  since  they  transgress  a  higher 
euphonic  law.  Such  are  :  — 

"  Film  of/tf/w/'/iarity  (42  ie) . 

"  Affected,  a  moral  aim,  and  the  effect  of  their  poetry  " 

(152). 

"  An  equal  sensibility  to  the  influence  of  the  senses " 
(21  so). 

"As  its  forms  survived  in  the  unre/<?rwed  worship  of 
modern  Europe  "  (32  is). 

But  especially  the  multiplication  of  words  ending  in  the 


xiv  INTRODUCTION. 

sound  of  -sion,  preceded  by  a  vowel,  such  as  the  follow- 
ing:— 

"The  incorporation  of  the  Celtic  nations  with  the  ex- 
hausted population  "  (27  26). 

"  He  omits  the  observation  of  conditions  still  more  im- 
portant, and  more  is  lost  than  gained  by  the  substitution  of 
the  rigidly-defined  and  ever-repeated  idealisms  of  a  distorted 
superstition  for  the  loving  impersonations  of  the  truth  of 
human  passion  "  (17  25-30)  ;  cf.  Sidney,  Defense  53  si,  note. 

Another  form  of  repetition  is  that  of  identical  words,  such 
as  'alleged'  (31  4,7),  'practice  '  (17  3,4).  Not  to  be  con- 
founded with  these  are  such  as  selectest:  selectest  (2328), 
and  partial:  partially  (24  1,2),  which  illustrate  a  rhetorical 
device. 

Alliteration  in  prose  is  due  to  the  same  retention  and  un- 
conscious reverberation  of  a  sound,  this  time  fragmentary 
and  initial,  a  single  phonetic  element  instead  of  a  group  of 
such.  Shelley  does  not  escape  this  fault,  or  rather  he  in- 
dulges a  common  and  pardonable  propensity  beyond  the 
limits  which  are  imposed  by  the  severe  taste  of  certain 
critics.  "  The  mask  and  the  mantle  "  (30  s)  would  almost 
pass  unnoticed,  and  "  the  fragrance  of  all  the  flowers  of  the 
field  "  (21  20)  can  be  readily  condoned.  But  the  following 
will  not  so  easily  escape  remark  :  — 

"  It  overcomes  and  sickens  the  spirit  with  excess  of  sweet- 
ness "  (21 17). 

"  A  monologue,  where  all  the  attention  may  be  directed 
to  some  great  waster  of  ideal  wimicry.  The  modern  prac- 
tice," etc.  (17  i). 

"  The  y'ury  which  sits  in  judgment  upon  a  poet  must  be 
composed,  of  his  peers  ;  it  must  be  im/anelled  by  Time.  .  .  . 
A  poet  is  a  nightingale,  who  sits  in  darkness  and  .rings  to 
cheer  its  own  solitude  with  sweet  sounds ;  his  auditors  are 
as  men  entranced  by  the  ;«elody  of  an  unseen  musician,  who 
feel  that  they  are  moved,'1  etc.  (1127-122).  Perhaps  the 


INTRODUCTION.  xv 

misquotation  in  35  27-8  owes  its  form  to  the  instinct  for 
alliteration,  and  '  feasting '  becomes  '  mirth,'  because  '  mourn- 
ing '  had  preceded. 

One  feature  of  a  poetical  style  Shelley  avoids,  the  intro- 
duction of  compound  words,  such  as  Sidney  loved  and 
abounded  in  (cf.  Sidney,  Defense  55  25,  note,  and  the  In- 
troduction, pp.  xxiv-xxv).  A  half-dozen  practically  exhaust 
the  list:  'all-penetrating'  (4622),  'ever-changing'  (2  e), 
'ever-repeated'  (17  28),  ' low-thoughted  '  (45  ai),  'many- 
sided'  (19  e),  and  'owl-eyed'  (394).  Of  these,  'low- 
thoughted  '  is  a  quotation,  and  '  owl-winged '  is  the  only 
other  that  has  a  decidedly  poetic  air. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Shelley's  style,  a  single  defect 
and  a  compensating  merit  must  be  noticed.  The  defect 
is  that  the  poet  as  prosaist  is  sometimes  ungrammatical. 
The  congruence  of  a  verb  with  its  subject,  for  example,  is 
not  always  observed.  Examples  are  :  — 

"  As  the  temporary  dress  .  .  .  ,  which  cover  without  con- 
cealing," etc.  (12  29). 

"  With  which  the  author,  in  common  with  his  auditors,  are 
infected"  (1922). 

"  The  chosen  delicacy  of  expressions  .  .  .  are  as  a  mist," 
etc.  (24s). 

"  His  apotheosis  of  Beatrice,  and  the  gradations  .  .  .  is 
the  most  glorious  imagination  of  modern  poetry"  (29  3-s). 

"  After  one  person  and  one  age  has  exhausted  all  its 
divine  effluence  which  their  peculiar  relations  enable  them 
to  share,"  etc.  (33  10-12) . 

"  The  accumulation  of  the  materials  of  external  life  ex- 
ceed," etc.  (38  n). 

The  verbal  noun  uniformly  takes  an  object:  "The  estab- 
lishing a  relation,"  etc.  (17  23;  cf.  17  24,  34  12-15). 

A  peculiar  confusion  is  illustrated  by  the  following  :  "  Each 
division  in  the  art  was  made  perfect  .  .  .  ,  and  was  disci- 
plined into  a  beautiful  proportion  and  unity  one  towards  the 
other"  (16  17-20). 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  connective  as  here  does  duty  in  a  construction  to 
which  it  is  not  perfectly  adapted  :  "  Never  was  blind  strength 
and  stubborn  form  so  disciplined  .  .  .  ,  or  that  will  less  re- 
pugnant, .  .  .  as  during  the  century,"  etc.  (15i"~2i). 

In  the  following  the  second  member  of  the  compound 
sentence  is  left  without  a  verb  :  "  Tragedy  becomes  a  cold 
imitation  .  .  .  ;  and  often  the  very  form  misunderstood,  or 
a  weak  attempt  to  teach  certain  doctrines,"  etc.  (19  u  ff.). 
'  Form  '  and  '  attempt '  simulate  noun-subjects,  but  the  close 
of  the  sentence  leaves  them  suspended,  as  it  were,  in  mid- 
air. 

These  offences,  it  will  be  said,  are  venial,  and  so  indeed 
they  are  in  relation  to  the  splendid  qualities  by  which  they 
are  offset,  but  the  reference  to  them  may  perhaps  serve  as 
an  excuse  for  occasional  lapses  in  our  elder  writers,  as  where 
Sidney  says  {Defense  47  28  )  :  "  Our  tragedies  and  comedies 
not  without  cause  cried  out  against,"  etc.,  in  which  the  finite 
verb  is  lacking. 

The  counterbalancing,  and  more  than  counterbalancing, 
merit,  is  the  apothegmatic  character  of  many  of  Shelley's 
statements.  Perhaps  no  English  essay  so  flowing  and  easy 
in  its  style,  and  so  brief  in  its  compass,  ever  contained  an 
equally  large  number  of  pregnant  sayings,  so  excellently  true 
and  so  adequately  expressed.  Two,  at  least,  have  become 
proverbial :  "  Poetry  is  the  record  of  the  best  and  happiest 
moments  of  the  happiest  and  best  minds."  "  The  rich  have 
become  richer,  and  the  poor  poorer."  But  there  is  a  large 
number  scarcely  less  deserving  of  popular  currency.  A  few 
of  these  may  be  instanced  :  — 

"  A  poem  is  the  very  image  of  life  expressed  in  its  eternal 
truth." 

"  It  is  not  what  the  erotic  poets  have,  but  what  they  have 
not,  in  which  their  imperfection  consists." 

"  A  man,  to  be  greatly  good,  must  imagine  intensely  and 
comprehensively." 


INTRODUCTION.  xvii 

"  Man,  having  enslaved  the  elements,  remains  himself  a 
slave." 

"  For  the  end  of  social  corruption  is  to  destroy  all  sensi- 
bility to  pleasure;  and  therefore  it  is  corruption." 

"  Tragedy  delights  by  affording  a  shadow  of  that  pleasure 
which  exists  in  pain." 

"  All  high  poetry  is  infinite  ;  it  is  as  the  first  acorn,  which 
contains  all  oaks  potentially." 

But  to  continue  to  quote  would  be  to  repeat  the  Essay  in 
the  Introduction. 

2.   SHELLEY'S  VIEWS  IN  COMPARISON  WITH  SIDNEY'S. 

In  essentials  Shelley  and  Sidney  agree.  Both  being  poets, 
and  acquainted  with  the  same  early  literatures  and  authori- 
ties, it  might  be  expected  that  their  views  would  not  be 
widely  divergent.  Among  the  opinions  which  they  hold  in 
common,  only  the  principal  need  be  mentioned. 

According  to  both,  then,  poetry  is  the  first  of  didactic 
agencies,  in  time  as  well  as  in  order  of  importance,  and,  to 
descend  to  particulars,  outranks  both  history  and  philosophy, 
each  of  which,  in  its  infancy,  embodies  something  of  its  great 
predecessor.  It  is  true  that  the  philosophy  which  Sidney 
has  in  mind  is  ethics,  while  Shelley  is  thinking  rather  of 
political  science,  but  this  difference  is  merely  indicative  of 
the  period ;  that  which  was  academic  and  general  in  the 
sixteenth  century  had  become  democratic  and  specifically 
sociological  by  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth.  Again, 
while  they  pronounce  poetry  to  be  the  first  of  didactic 
agencies,  neither  writer  will  allow  that  the  poetry  which 
studiously  and  incessantly  reminds  us  of  its  moral  aim  has  a 
right  to  a  place  among  the  highest. 

They  agree  that  there  is  something  prophetic  about 
poetry ;  the  poet  has  the  "  vision  and  the  faculty  divine." 
Accordingly  there  is  much  poetry  in  the  Bible.  Moreover, 


xviii  INTR  OD  UCTION. 

the  insight  of  the  true  seer  cannot  be  acquired  through  scho- 
lastic discipline  ;  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  poet  must  be 
born  to  his  lofty  mission. 

It  is  not  necessary  that  poetry  take  the  form  of  verse, 
although,  since  harmony  is  the  soul  of  poetry,  numbers  con- 
stitute the  usual  and  fitting  body  to  this  soul.  Plato  is  in- 
stanced by  both  as  a  prose-poet,  or,  if  the  phrase  be  preferred, 
as  a  prosaist  whose  substance  is  poetical. 

Again,  poetic  art  improves  upon  nature  ;  the  world  of  the 
poet  is  a  fairer  one  than  was  ever  seen  by  mortal  eye,  and 
hence  his  imagined  world  may  well  become  the  foundation  of 
the  actual  one,  —  the  type  which  men  seek  to  realize.  Not 
only  is  such  endeavor  at  realization  possible,  but,  as  an 
historical  fact,  men  have  taken  the  figments  of  the  poets  for 
models,  Homer  being  an  instance  in  point.  The  truth  re- 
vealed by  poetry  is  infinitely  attractive,  but  can  only  be  seen 
by  ordinary  men  in  the  creations  of  the  bard  ;  the  latter  are 
therefore  true  in  the  deepest  sense,  and  fictitious  only  in  the 
superficial  one.  Finally,  the  test  of  poetry  is  its  delightful- 
ness  in  combination  with  its  didactic  efficacy  and  elevation  ; 
let  it  fail  of  either,  and  it  must  at  once  be  consigned  to  a 
lower  rank  as  poetry,  or  be  denied  that  name  altogether ;  — 

Omne  tulit  punctum  qui  miscuit  utile  dulci 
Lectorem  delectando  pariterque  monendo. 

Notwithstanding  a  concurrence  of  view  extending  to  so 
many  particulars,  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  Shelley's  essay 
is  a  mere  reproduction  of  Sidney's.  Even  in  poetic  endow- 
ment they  were  unlike,  and  no  less  in  education  and  tempera- 
ment. Sidney  was  trained  in  a  severer  school  than  Shelley, 
issuing  from  it  more  cautious,  more  sober,  —  one  is  tempted 
to  say,  more  prosaic.  By  disposition  and  training,  Shelley 
was  rather  Hellenic,  Sidney  rather  Roman.  Sidney  followed 
of  preference  the  matter-of-fact  Aristotle,  while  Shelley  was 
more  admiringly  attached  to  the  ardent  and  soaring  Plato,  — 


INTRODUCTION.  xix 

not  the  Plato  of  the  Republic,  but  him  of  the  Ion  and  the  Sym~ 
posium.  In  considering  the  ancient  drama,  Shelley  has  his 
eye  upon  the  Athenians,  Sidney  upon  Seneca  and  Plautus. 
His  acquaintance  with  Greek  literature  enabled  Shelley  to 
assume  toward  Roman  poetry  the  attitude  of  a  stern  but 
upright  judge  ;  this  is  shown  as  well  in  his  appreciation  of 
Lucretius  as  in  his  estimate  of  the  general  literary  inferiority 
of  the  Romans,  and  in  his  censure  of  the  Alexandrianism 
upon  which  no  small  part  of  the  Latin  poetry  was  nourished. 
The  moral  instruction  which  poetry  should  impart  appears, 
according  to  Sidney,  to  be,  as  it  were,  mechanipally  suspended 
in  the  liquid  mass  of  poetry ;  according  to  Stowey,  the  bub- 
bling wellspring  of  poetry  is  highly  charged  with  secret 
medicinal  virtue,  which  renders  still  more  agreeable  the 
medium  by  which  it  is  conveyed.  The  one  seeks  to  disguise 
a  wholesome  bitterness ;  the  other  is  conscious  of  nothing 
but  an  exhilarating  and  healthful  potency.  Sidney,  in  his 
utilitarian  vein,  can  condescend  to  speak  of  the  mnemonic 
value  of  verse.  He  presents  himself  before  us  as  an  ad- 
vocate holding  a  brief  for  a  discredited  client,  and  seeking 
to  convince  by  any  fair  means,  even  to  the  sacrifice  of  the 
defendant's  dignity.  His  eloquence  is  forensic  and  practical, 
like  the  literary  genius  of  Rome.  It  deals  with  the  tangible, 
the  ponderable ;  with  it  he  descends  into  the  arena  in  order 
to  conquer.  Once  there,  if  his  adversary's  armor  resist  the 
keen  thrust  of  his  sword,  he  is  willing,  like  a  Homeric  hero, 
to  cast  about  for  some  convenient  boulder  with  which  to 
crush  him.  Shelley,  on  the  other  hand,  disdains  to  leave  the 
empyrean.  Thence  if  he  hurl  a  missile,  it  shall  be  the  bolt 
of  Jove,  which  dazzles  while  it  smites.  To  his  glance  the 
farthest  horizons  are  simultaneously  disclosed.  Accordingly, 
he  recognizes  the  identity  of  poetry  with  invention ;  with 
every  species  of  fine  art ;  with  the  prescience  of  great  law- 
givers ;  with  an  intuitional  philosophy ;  with  vision  which, 
in  the  poverty  of  language,  we  call  prophetic,  but  which  is 
really  timeless,  affirmatory  of  an  eternal  Now. 


xx  INTRODUCTION. 

Shelley's  historical  perspective  is  larger  and  juster  than 
Sidney's ;  he  sees  the  ages  unroll  the  panoramic  destinies  of 
the  race,  and  marks  the  elements  of  renewal  and  decay.  He 
gazes  critically  at  the  past,  and  hopefully  into  the  future. 
Sidney  could  not  see  a  decade  in  advance,  could  not  even 
discern  the  youthful  Shakespeare ;  Shelley  virtually  foresaw 
the  whole  transcendental  movement  in  England  and  America, 
with  the  train  of  beneficial  effects  by  which  it  was  to  be  ac- 
companied. In  a  word  and  a  figure,  if  Sidney  is  mounted 
on  a  strong  and  active  steed,  it  is  still  of  mortal  strain,  while 
Shelley  is  aloft  on  Pegasus,  and  scarcely  condescends  to 
touch  the  ground  in  his  airy  flight. 

3.   THE  PROVINCES  OF  INSPIRATION  AND  OF  LABOR. 

In  one  point  of  the  highest  importance  Shelley  has  per- 
haps expressed  himself  too  strongly.  Speaking  of  the  im- 
potence of  the  will  in  the  production  of  poetry,  he  explains 
(p.  39)  :  "I  appeal  to  the  greatest  poets  of  the  present  day 
whether  it  is  not  an  error  to  assert  that  the  finest  passages 
of  poetry  are  produced  by  labor  and  study.  The  toil  and 
the  delay  recommended  by  critics  can  be  justly  interpreted 
to  mean  no  more  than  a  careful  observation  of  the  inspired 
moments,  and  an  artificial  connection  of  the  spaces  between 
their  suggestions  by  the  intertexture  of  conventional  expres- 
sions." 

The  decision  in  this  matter  is  one  that  can  be  given  by 
none  so  well  as  by  the  poets  themselves.  What  testimony 
is  borne  by  the  ancients,  and  what  by  the  moderns  ?  If  it 
were  possible  to  compare  the  utterances  of  men  so  various 
as  Pindar,  Horace,  Dante,  Milton,  Goethe,  Schiller,  Burns, 
and  Shelley  himself — Shelley  the  artist  rather  than  Shelley 
the  theorist  —  it  would  seem  that  the  question  might  be 
settled. 

Pindar  is  usually  regarded  as  the  type  of  the  fiery  and 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  xxi 

impassioned  poet.  In  certain  of  his  odes  he  characterizes 
his  own  processes.  Do  these  exclude  labor  and  study? 
According  to  that  most  accomplished  and  poetic  of  his 
editors,  Professor  Gildersleeve,  it  is  quite  otherwise  (p. 
xxxvi)  :  "  Of  the  richness  of  his  workmanship  none  is  better 
aware  than  he.  The  work  of  the  poet  is  a  Daedalian  work, 
and  the  sinuous  folds  are  wrought  with  rare  skill  (O.  i,  105), 
the  art  of  art  is  selection  and  adornment,  the  production  of 
a  rich  and  compassed  surface  (P.  9,  83).  The  splendor  of 
the  Goddesses  of  Triumphal  Song  irradiates  him  (P.  9,  97), 
and  he  is  a  leader  in  the  skill  of  poesy,  which  to  him  is  by 
eminence  wisdom  (o-o^ta),  wisdom  in  the  art  of  the  theme, 
and  in  the  art  of  the  treatment."  And  again  (p.  xliii)  : 
"  Pindar  is  a  jeweller,  his  material  gold  and  ivory,  and  his 
chryselephantine  work  challenges  the  scrutiny  of  the  micro- 
scope, invites  the  study  that  wearies  not  day  or  night  in 
exploring  the  recesses  in  which  the  artist  has  held  his  art 
sequestered  —  invites  the  study  and  rewards  it." 

To  the  same  effect  is  the  judgment  of  Croiset,  the  author 
of  a  fascinating  book  entitled  La  Poesie  de  Pindare  (pp. 
153-5):  "From  what  precedes  it  will  be  sufficiently  clear 
that  we  should  be  forming  a  totally  false  notion  of  Greek 
lyric  poetry,  if,  in  conformity  with  certain  modem  prepos- 
sessions, we  supposed  it  to  be  the  product  of  unreasoning 
impulse  and  blind  inspiration.  Nothing  is  less  artless,  in 
one  way,  than  the  fine  frenzy  of  the  Greek  lyric.  In  these 
show-pieces  of  his  art,  the  poet  has  but  a  general  and  remote 
interest  in  the  things  of  which  he  is  discoursing.  It  is  solely 
by  means  of  the  imagination,  and  in  a  manner  wholly  artifi- 
cial, that  he  succeeds  in  arousing  his  own  emotional  activity. 
Friendship,  gratitude  for  open-handed  hospitality,  even  piety 
in  its  stated  and  formal  manifestations,  are  not  sentiments 
which  can  ravish  the  poet  out  of  his  self-possession ;  and 
we  can  attribute  still  less  influence  to  the  stipulated  fee, 
often  the  immediate  cause  of  his  strains.  There  are  a  thou- 


xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

sand  proprieties  for  him  to  observe.  He  must  possess  tact 
and  pliancy  of  spirit  which  shall  be  equal  to  every  occasion. 
Nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  eulogize  gracefully,  —  and 
precisely  in  this  the  whole  art  of  the  lyric  poet  consists. 
Whether  gods  or  men  form  his  subject,  praise  is  his  exclu- 
sive concern.  Hence  it  is  deep  and  continuous  reflection, 
not  ecstasy  of  any  sort,  which  will  conduct  him  to  his  goal. 
If  ecstasy  has  any  share  in  the  production,  it  is  chiefly  in 
the  final  working  up  of  his  materials,  after  art  and  learning 
have  foreseen  everything,  calculated  and  disposed  every- 
thing, with  reference  to  the  effect  intended. 

"  To  all  this  the  lyric  poets  paid  full  heed.  In  the  preced- 
ing pages  we  have  already  passed  in  review  a  considerable 
number  of  Pindar's  verses  which  contain  allusions  to  laws 
by  which  he  felt  himself  bound.  At  other  times  he  pretends 
to  lose  his  way,  —  then  checks  and  corrects  himself,  and 
leads  his  chariot  back  again  into  the  right  road,  and  by  so 
doing  furnishes  the  proof  that  even  his  poetic  rapture 
never  ceases  to  keep  watch  over  itself.  The  lyric  poets 
often  allude  to  reefs  on  which  they  must  beware  of  shatter- 
ing their  harks.  Now  the  danger  is  one  of  excessive  length, 
now  of  a  superfluity  of  praise,  again  of  triteness  or  monotony. 
Consummate  skill  is  necessary  in  order  to  avoid  these  perils. 
Nothing  is  less  like  a  wild  and  headlong  career  than  this 
circumspect  advance,  so  mindful  of  all  its  steps  in  the  midst 
of  its  superb  dignity  and  magnificent  speed.  The  lyric  poet 
calls  himself  a  cunning  workman,  a  craft-master,  for  so  we 
may  translate  the  Greek  words  <ro</>ds  and  <ro<£<.o-T??s  which 
Pindar  employs.  He  speaks  of  his  talent  as  readily  as  of 
his  Muse.  He  is  fully  conscious  of  his  art  and  prides  him- 
self upon  it.  It  is  not  through  some  chance  inspiration  that 
he  brings  to  light  such  marvels  :  it  is  through  a  science 
which  is  perfectly  master  of  itself,  through  an  art  which  adds 
to  the  gifts  of  the  Graces  and  the  Muses  that  which  is  no 
less  necessary,  experience  and  craftsmanship.  The  poet's 


INTRODUCTION.  xxiii 

inspiration  is  subject  to  laws,  to  fixed  rules.  These  he  must 
know  and  to  these  he  must  submit." 

Of  Horace,  generally  esteemed  the  calmer  and  saner 
mind,  the  dictum  is  well-known  (Art  of  Poetry,  408-411)  : 
"  Whether  by  genius  or  by  art  an  excellent  poem  is  produced, 
has  often  been  the  question ;  but  I  do  not  see  what  can  be 
done  by  study  without  a  rich  vein  of  intellect,  nor  by 
genius  when  uncultivated  ;  so  true  is  it  that  either  requires 
the  help  of  either,  and  that  the  two  combine  in  friendly 
union." 

Dante  has  been  quoted  in  the  note  to  the  passage. 
Milton,  though  in  a  quite  different  form  of  words,  virtually 
echoes  the  Horatian  sentiment  (Reason  of  Church  Govern- 
ment} :  "  I  began  thus  far  to  assent  both  to  them  and  divers 
of  my  friends  here  at  home,  and  not  less  to  an  inward 
prompting  which  now  grew  daily  upon  me,  that  by  labor  and 
intense  study,  which  I  take  to  be  my  portion  in  this  life, 
joined  with  the  strong  propensity  of  nature,  I  might  perhaps 
leave  something  so  written  to  aftertimes,  as  they  should  not 
willingly  let  it  die.  ...  I  applied  myself  to  that  resolution 
which  Ariosto  followed  against  the  persuasions  of  Bembo,  to 
fix  all  the  industry  and  art  I  could  unite  to  the  adorning  of 
my  native  tongue.  .  .  .  Nor  to  be  obtained  by  the  invoca- 
tion of  Dame  Memory  and  her  siren  daughters,  but  by  devout 
prayer  to  that  eternal  Spirit  who  can  enrich  with  all  utter- 
ance and  knowledge,  and  sends  out  his  seraphim  with  the 
hallowed  fire  of  his  altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of 
whom  he  pleases.  To  this  must  be  added  industrious  and 
select  reading,  steady  observation,  insight  into  all  seemly  and 
generous  arts  and  affairs." 

Goethe  might  be  quoted  in  favor  of  the  extreme  view,  and 
might  even  be  thought  to  go  further  than  Shelley  himself 
(Eckermann,  March  n,  1828)  :  "  No  productiveness  of  the 
highest  kind,  no  remarkable  discovery,  no  great  thought 
which  bears  fruit  and  has  results,  is  in  the  power  of  any  one  ; 


xxiv  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

such  things  are  elevated  above  all  earthly  control.  Man 
must  consider  them  as  an  unexpected  gift  from  above,  as 
the  pure  efflux  of  divine  grace  which  he  must  receive  and 
venerate  with  joyful  thanks.  They  are  akin  to  the  8at/xov,  or 
genius  of  life,  which  does  with  him  what  it  pleases,  and  to 
which  he  unconsciously  resigns  himself,  whilst  he  believes  he 
is  acting  from  his  own  impulse.  In  such  cases,  man  may 
best  be  considered  as  an  instrument  in  the  higher  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  as  a  vessel  found  worthy  for  the  recep- 
tion of  a  divine  influence.  I  say  this  while  I  consider  how 
often  a  single  thought  has  given  a  different  form  to  whole 
centuries ;  and  how  individual  men  have,  by  their  expres- 
sions, imprinted  a  stamp  upon  their  age,  which  has  remained 
uneffaced,  and  has  operated  beneficially  upon  many  succeed- 
ing generations."  But  against  this  must  be  alleged  evidence 
tending  to  correct  such  an  impression  (Letter  to  Schiller, 
April  19,  1797)  :  "Some  verses  in  Homer,  which  are  pro- 
nounced to  be  certainly  not  genuine  and  quite  new,  are  of 
the  same  kind  as  some  which  I  myself  interpolated  into  my 
poem,  after  it  was  finished,  in  order  to  make  the  whole 
clearer  and  more  intelligible,  and  to  prepare  "betimes  future 
events.  I  am  very  curious  to  see  what  I  shall  be  inclined 
to  add  to  or  take  from  my  poem,  when  I  shall  have  got 
through  with  my  present  studies." 

Of  Schiller,  Goethe  says  {Eckermann,  Nov.  14,  1823)  : 
"  Schiller  produced  nothing  instinctively  or  unconsciously  ; 
he  must  reflect  upon  every  step  ;  therefore  he  always  wished 
to  talk  over  his  literary  plans,  and  has  conversed  with  me 
about  all  his  later  works,  piece  by  piece,  as  he  was  writing 
them."  And  Schiller  describes  his  own  procedure  when 
engaged  upon  the  Song  of  the  Bell  (Letter  to  Goethe,  July 
7>  :79?)  :  "I  nave  now  gone  to  work  at  my  bell- founder's 
song,  and  since  yesterday  I  have  been  studying  in  Kruenitz's 
Encyclopaedia,  out  of  which  I  get  a  great  deal  of  profit. 
This  poem  I  have  much  at  heart,  but  it  will  cost  me  several 


INTRODUCTION.  XXV 

weeks,  because  I  need  for  it  so  many  varieties  of  moods, 
and  there  is  a  great  bulk  to  be  worked  up." 

In  a  bookseller's  catalogue  of  manuscripts  I  find  a  quota- 
tion in  point  from  an  alleged  autograph  letter  of  Burns,  said 
to  bear  date  of  Jan.  22,  1788,  which,  however,  does  not 
appear  in  any  of  the  published  collections  in  that  place. 
The  quotation  is  :  "I  have  no  great  faith  in  the  boasted 
pretensions  to  intuitive  propriety  and  unlabored  elegance. 
The  rough  material  of  fine  writing  is  certainly  the  gift  of 
genius.  But  I  as  firmly  believe  that  the  workmanship  is  the 
united  effort  of  pains,  attention,  and  repeated  trial." 

The  principle  of  composition,  as  distinguished  from  direct 
inspiration,  was  certainly  recognized  by  Shelley,  for  he  avows 
that  he  acted  upon  it  in  the  writing  of  Adonais  (Letter  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gisborne,  June  5,  1821)  :  "I  have  been  en- 
gaged these  last  days  in  composing  a  poem  on  the  death  of 
Keats,  which  will  shortly  be  finished.  ...  It  is  a  highly 
wrought /&?£  of  art,  and  perhaps  better,  in  point  of  compo- 
sition, than  anything  I  have  written." 

Perhaps  as  good  a  summary  as  is  required  may  be  found 
in  Saintsbury's  note  on  the  passage  which  has  called  forth 
this  comment  (Specimens  of  English  Prose,  p.  346)  :  "  There 
is  an  obvious  fallacy  here.  The  finest  passages  are  not  origi- 
nally inspired  by  labor  and  study,  but  in  their  finest  shape 
they  are  the  result  of  labor  and  study  spent  on  the  imme- 
diate result  of  inspiration." 


A    DEFENSE    OF    POETRY. 


ACCORDING  to  one  mode  of  regarding  those  two 
classes  of  mental  action  which  are  called  reason 
and  imagination,  the  former  may  be  considered  as 
mind  contemplating  the  relations  borne  by  one 
thought  to  another,  however  produced,  and  the  5 
latter  as  mind  acting  upon  those  thoughts  so  as 
to  color  them  with  its  own  light,  and  composing 
from  them,  as  from  elements,  other  thoughts,  each 
containing  within  itself  the  principle  of  its  own 
integrity.  The  one  is  the  TO  jroieiv,  or  the  princi-  10 
pie  of  synthesis,  and  has  for  its  object  those  forms 
which  are  common  to  universal  nature  and  exist- 
ence itself ;  the  other  is  the  TO  \oyi£etv,  or  principle 
of  analysis,  and  its  action  regards  the  relations  of 
things  simply  as  relations  ;  considering  thoughts  15 
not  in  their  integral  unity,  but  as  the  algebraical 
representations  which  conduct  to  certain  general 
results.  Reason  is  the  enumeration  of  quantities 
already  known  ;  imagination  is  the  perception  of 
the  value  of  those  quantities,  both  separately  and  20 
as  a  whole.  Reason  respects  the  differences,  and 
imagination  the  similitudes  of  things.  Reason  is 
to  imagination  as  the  instrument  to  the  agent,  as 
the  body  to  the  spirit,  as  the  shadow  to  the  sub- 
stance. 25 


THE  ELEMENTARY  POETIC  FACULTY. 

Poetry,  in  a  general  sense,  may  be  defined  to  be 
'the  expression  of  the  imagination';  and  poetry 
is  connate  with  the  origin  of  man.  Man  is  an  in- 
strument over  which  a  series  of  external  and  inter- 

s  nal  impressions  are  driven,  like  the  alternations  of 
an  ever-changing  wind  over  an  yEolian  lyre,  which 
move  it  by  their  motion  to  ever-changing  melody. 
But  there  is  a  principle  within  the  human  being, 
and  perhaps  within  all  sentient  beings,  which  acts 

10  otherwise  than  in  a  lyre,  and  produces  not  mel- 
ody alone,  but  harmony,  by  an  internal  adjustment 
of  the  sounds  and  motions  thus  excited  to  the  im- 
pressions which  excite  them.  It  is  as  if  the  lyre 
could  accommodate  its  chords  to  the  motions  of 

15  that  which  strikes  them,  in  a  determined  proportion 
of  sound  ;  even  as  the  musician  can  accommodate 
his  voice  to  the  sound  of  the  lyre.  A  child  at  play 
by  itself  will  express  its  delight  by  its  voice  and 
motions  ;  and  every  inflection  of  tone  and  every 

20  gesture  will  bear  exact  relation  to  a  corresponding 
antitype  in  the  pleasurable  impressions  which  awak- 
ened it ;  it  will  be  the  reflected  image  of  that  im- 
pression ;  and  as  the  lyre  trembles  and  sounds 
after  the  wind  has  died  away,  so  the  child  seeks, 

25  by  prolonging  in  its  voice  and  motions  the  duration 
of  the  effect,  to  prolong  also  a  consciousness  of 
the  cause.  In  relation  to  the  objects  which  delight 
a  child,  these  expressions  are  what  poetry  is  to 
higher  objects.  The  savage  (for  the  savage  is  to 

30  ages  what  the  child  is  to  years)  expresses  the  emo- 
tions produced  in  him  by  surrounding  objects  in 
a  similar  manner ;  and  language  and  gesture,  to- 
gether with  plastic  or  pictorial  imitation,  become 


REFLECTS  SOCIETY  AS    WELL  AS  NATURE.         3 

the  image  of  the  combined  effect  of  those  objects 
and  his  apprehension  of  them.  Man  in  society, 
with  all  his  passions  and  his  pleasures,  next  be- 
comes the  object  of  the  passions  and  pleasures  of 
man ;  an  additional  class  of  emotions  produces  an  5 
augmented  treasure  of  expression  ;  and  language, 
gesture,  and  the  imitative  arts,  become  at  once  the 
representation  and  the  medium,  the  pencil  and  the 
picture,  the  chisel  and  the  statue,  the  chord  and 
the  harmony.  The  social  sympathies,  or  those  10 
laws  from  which,  as  from  its  elements,  society 
results,  begin  to  develop  themselves  from  the 
moment  that  two  human  beings  co-exist  ;  the 
future  is  contained  within  the  present  as  the  plant 
within  the  seed ;  and  equality,  diversity,  unity,  15 
contrast,  mutual  dependence,  become  the  prin- 
ciples alone  capable  of  affording  the  motives 
according  to  which  the  will  of  a  social  being  is 
determined  to  action,  inasmuch  as  he  is  social ; 
and  constitute  pleasure  in  sensation,  virtue  in  sen-  20 
timent,  beauty  in  art,  truth  in  reasoning,  and  love 
in  the  intercourse  of  kind.  Hence  men,  even  in 
the  infancy  of  society,  observe  a  certain  order  in 
their  words  and  actions,  distinct  from  that  of  the 
objects  and  the  impressions  represented  by  them, 
all  expression  being  subject  to  the  laws  of  that 
from  which  it  proceeds.  But  let  us  dismiss  those 
more  general  considerations  which  might  involve 
an  inquiry  into  the  principles  of  society  itself,  and 
restrict  our  view  to  the  manner  in  which  the  imag-  30 
ination  is  expressed  upon  its  forms. 

In  the  youth  of  the  world,  men  dance  and  sing 
and    imitate    natural    objects,  observing   in    these 


POETS  BY  EMINENCE. 

actions,  as  in  all  others,  a  certain  rhythm  or  order. 
And,  although  all  men  observe  a  similar,  they 
observe  not  the  same  order  in  the  motions  of  the 
dance,  in  the  melody  of  the  song,  in  the  combina- 
5  tions  of  language,  in  the  series  of  their  imitations 
of  natural  objects.  For  there  is  a  certain  order 
or  rhythm  belonging  to  each  of  these  classes  of 
mimetic  representation,  from  which  the  hearer  and 
the  spectator  receive  an  intenser  and  purer  pleas- 
ure  than  from  any  other ;  the  sense  of  an  approxi- 
mation to  this  order  has  been  called  taste  by 
modern  writers.  Every  man,  in  the  infancy  of  art, 
observes  an  order  which  approximates  more  or  less 
closely  to  that  from  which  this  highest  delight 

15  results  ;  but  the  diversity  is  not  sufficiently  marked 
as  that  its  gradations  should  be  sensible,  except  in 
those  instances  where  the  predominance  of  this 
faculty  of  approximation  to  the  beautiful  (for  so 
we  may  be  permitted  to  name  the  relation  between 

20  this  highest  pleasure  and  its  cause)  is  very  great. 
Those  in  whom  it  exists  to  excess  are  poets,  in  the 
most  universal  sense  of  the  word  ;  and  the  pleasure 
resulting  from  the  manner  in  which  they  express 
the  influence  of  society  or  nature  upon  their  own 

z$  minds,  communicates  itself    to  others,  and  gathers 

a    sort    of    reduplication    from    the    community. 

/  Their  language  is  vitally  metaphorical  ;  that  is,  it 

marks  the  before  unapprehended  relations  of  things 

'    and  perpetuates   their  apprehension,  until  words, 

30  which  represent  them,  become,  through  time,  signs 
for  portions  or  classes  of  thought  instead  of  pic- 
tures of  integral  thoughts  ;  and  then,  if  no  new 
poe-ts  should  arise  to  create  afresh  the  associations 


PRIMITIVE  LANGUAGE  POETRY.  I 

which  have  been  thus  disorganized,  language  will 
be  dead  to  all  the  nobler  purposes  of  human  inter- 
course. These  similitudes  or  relations  are  finely 
said  by  Lord  Bacon  to  be  "  the  same  footsteps  of 
nature  impressed  upon  the  various  subjects  of  the  5 
world"  —and  he  considers  the  faculty  which  per- 
ceives them  as  the  storehouse  of  axioms  common 
to  all  knowledge.  In  the  infancy  of  society  every 
author  is  necessarily  a  poet,  because  language 
itself  is  poetry ;  and  to  be  a  poet  is  to  apprehend  10 
the  true  and  the  beautiful,  in  a  word,  the  good 
which  exists  in  the  relation  subsisting,  first  be- 
tween existence  and  perception,  and  secondly  be- 
tween perception  and  expression.  Every  original 
language  near  to  its  source  is  in  itself  the  chaos  of  15 
a  cyclic  poem ;  the  copiousness  of  lexicography 
and  the  distinctions  of  grammar  are  the  works  of 
a  later  age,  and  are  merely  the  catalogue  and  the 
forms  of  the  creations  of  poetry. 

But  poets,  or  those  who    imagine   and   express  20 
this  indestructible  order,  are  not  only  the  authors 
of  language  and  of  music,  of  the  dance,  and  archi- 
tecture, and  statuary,  and  painting :  they  are  the 
institutors  of  laws,  and  the  founders  of  civil  soci- 
ety, and  the  inventors  of  the  arts  of  life,  and  the  25 
teachers  who  draw  into  a  certain  propinquity  with 
the  beautiful  and  the  true  that  partial  apprehen- 
sion of  the  agencies  of   the  invisible  world  which       / 
is  called  religion.     Hence  all  original  religions  are 
allegorical,   or   susceptible   of    allegory,   and,   like  30 
Janus,  have  a  double  face  of  false  and  true.    Poets, 
according  to  the   circumstances  of   the   age   and 
nation  in  which  they  appeared,  were  called,  in  the 


)       POETS  BOTH  LEGISLATORS  AND  PROPHETS. 

earlier  epochs  of  the  world,  legislators  or  prophets  ; 
a  poet  essentially  comprises  and  unites  both  these 
characters.  For  he  not  only  beholds  intensely 
the  present  as  it  is,  and  discovers  those  laws  accord- 
5  ing  to  which  present  things  ought  to  be  ordered, 
but  he  beholds  the  future  in  the  present,  and  his 
thoughts  are  the  germs  of  the  flower  and  the  fruit 
of  latest  time.  Not  that  I  assert  poets  to  be 
prophets  in  the  gross  sense  of  the  word,  or  that 

10  they  can  foretell  the  form  as  surely  as  they  fore- 
know the  spirit  of  events ;  such  is  the  pretence  of 
superstition,  which  would  make  poetry  an  attribute 
of  prophecy,  rather  than  prophecy  an  attribute  of 
poetry.  A  poet  participates  in  the  eternal,  the 

15  infinite,  and  the  one ;  as  far  as  relates  to  his  con- 
ceptions, time  and  place  and  number  are  not.  The 
grammatical  forms  which  express  the  moods  of 
time,  and  the  difference  of  persons,  and  the  dis- 
tinction of  place,  are  convertible  with  respect  to 

20  the  highest  poetry  without  injuring  it  as  poetry ; 
and  the  choruses  of  yEschylus,  and  the  Book  of 
Job,  and  Dante's  Paradise,  would  afford,  more  than 
any  other  writings,  examples  of  this  fact,  if  the 
limits  of  this  essay  did  not  forbid  citation.  The 

25  creations  of  music,  sculpture,  and  painting  are 
illustrations  still  more  decisive. 

Language,  color,  form,  and  religious  and  civil 
habits  of  action,  are  all  the  instruments  and  mate- 
rials of  poetry ;  they  may  be  called  poetry  by  that 

30  figure  of  speech  which  considers  the  effect  as  a 
synonym  of  the  cause.  But  poetry  in  a  more 
restricted  sense  expresses  those  arrangements  of 
language,  and  especially  metrical  language,  which 


POETRY  IN    THE  LIMITED   SENSE. 

are  created  by  that  imperial  faculty  whose  throne 
is  curtained  within  the  invisible  nature  of  man. 
And  this  springs  from  the  nature  itself  of  lan- 
guage, which  is  a  more  direct  representation  of  the 
actions  and  passions  of  our  internal  being,  and  is  5 
susceptible  of  more  various  and  delicate  combina- 
tions, than  color,  form,  or  motion,  and  is  more  plas- 
tic and  obedient  to  the  control  of  that  faculty  of 
which  it  is  the  creation.  For  language  is  arbitra- 
rily produced  by  the  imagination,  and  has  relation 
to  thoughts  alone ;  but  all  other  materials,  instru- 
ments, and  conditions  of  art  have  relations  among 
each  other,  which  limit  and  interpose  between  con- 
ception and  expression.  The  former  is  as  a  mirror 
which  reflects,  the  latter  as  a  cloud  which  enfeebles,  15 
the  light  of  which  both  are  mediums  of  communi- 
cation. Hence  the  fame  of  sculptors,  painters, 
and  musicians,  although  the  intrinsic  powers  of  the 
great  masters  of  these  arts  may  yield  in  no  degree 
to  that  of  those  who  have  employed  language  as  20 
the  hieroglyphic  of  their  thoughts,  has  never 
equalled  that  of  poets  in  the  restricted  sense  of 
the  term ;  as  two  performers  of  equal  skill  will 
produce  unequal  effects  from  a  guitar  and  a  harp. 
The  fame  of  legislators  and  founders  of  religions,  25 
so  long  as  their  institutions  last,  alone  seems  to 
exceed  that  of  poets  in  the  restricted  sense ;  but 
it  can  scarcely  be  a  question,  whether,  if  we  deduct 
the  celebrity  which  their  flattery  of  the  gross 
opinions  of  the  vulgar  usually  conciliates,  together  3° 
with  that  which  belonged  to  them  in  their  higher 
character  of  poets,  any  excess  will  remain. 

We  have  thus  circumscribed  the  word  poetry 


8  UNMETRICAL  POETRY. 

within  the  limits  of  that  art  which  is  the  most 
familiar  and  the  most  perfect  expression  of  the 
faculty  itself.  It  is  necessary,  however,  to  make 
the  circle  still  narrower,  and  to  determine  the  dis- 
5  tinction  between  measured  and  unmeasured  lan- 
guage ;  for  the  popular  division  into  prose  and 
verse  is  inadmissible  in  accurate  philosophy. 

Sounds  as  well  as  thoughts  have  relation  both 
between  each  other  and  towards  that  which  they 

10  represent,  and  a  perception  of  the  order  of  those 
relations  has  always  been  found  connected  with  a 
perception  of  the  order  of  the  relations  of  thoughts. 
Hence  the  language  of  poets  has  ever  affected  a 
sort  of  uniform  and  harmonious  recurrence  of 

15  sound,  without  which  it  were  not  poetry,  and 
which  is  scarcely  less  indispensable  to  the  com- 
munication of  its  influence  than  the  words  them- 
selves without  reference  to  that  peculiar  order. 
Hence  the  vanity  of  translation ;  it  were  as  wise 

20  to  cast  a  violet  into  a  crucible  that  you  might  dis- 
cover the  formal  principles  of  its  color  and  odor,  as 
seek  to  transfuse  from  one  language  into  another 
the  creations  of  a  poet.  The  plant  must  spring 
again  from  its  seed,  or  it  will  bear  no  flower  —  and 

*5  this  is  the  burthen  of  the  curse  of  Babel. 

An  observation  of  the  regular  mode  of  the 
recurrence  of  harmony  in  the  language  of  poetical 
minds,  together  with  its  relation  to  music,  produced 
metre,  or  a  certain  system  of  traditional  forms  of 

50  harmony  and  language.  Yet  it  is  by  no  means 
essential  that  a  poet  should  accommodate  his  lan- 
guage to  this  traditional  form,  so  that  the  harmony, 
which  is  its  spirit,  be  observed.  The  practice  is 


PLATO  AND  BACON   WERE  POETS.  9 

indeed  convenient  and  popular,  and  to  be  preferred 
especially  in  such  composition  as  includes  much 
action ;  but  every  great  poet  must  inevitably  inno- 
vate upon  the  example  of  his  predecessors  in  the 
exact  structure  of  his  peculiar  versification.  The  s 
distinction  between  poets  and  prose  writers  is  a 
vulgar  error.  The  distinction  between  philos- 
ophers and  poets  has  been  anticipated.  Plato  was 
essentially  a  poet  —  the  truth  and  splendor  of  his 
imagery,  and  the  melody  of  his  language,  are  the  10 
most  intense  that  it  is  possible  to  conceive.  He 
rejected  the  harmony  of  the  epic,  dramatic,  and 
lyrical  forms,  because  he  sought  to  kindle  a  har- 
mony in  thoughts  divested  of  shape  and  action, 
and  he  forbore  to  invent  any  regular  plan  of  rhythm  15 
which  would  include,  under  determinate  forms,  the 
varied  pauses  of  his  style.  Cicero  sought  to  imi- 
tate the  cadence  of  his  periods,  but  with  little  suc- 
cess. Lord  Bacon  was  a  poet.  His  language  has 
a  sweet  and  majestic  rhythm  which  satisfies  the  20 
sense,  no  less  than  the  almost  superhuman  wisdom 
of  his  philosophy  satisfies  the  intellect ;  it  is  a 
strain  which  distends  and  then  bursts  the  circum- 
ference of  the  reader's  mind,  and  pours  itself  forth 
together  with  it  into  the  universal  element  with  25 
which  it  has  perpetual  sympathy.  All  the  authors 
of  revolutions  in  opinion  are  not  only  necessarily 
poets  as  they  are  inventors,  nor  even  as  their  words 
unveil  the  permanent  analogy  of  things  by  images 
which  participate  in  the  life  of  truth  ;  but  as  their  30 
periods  are  harmonious  and  rhythmical,  and  contain 
in  themselves  the  elements  of  verse;  being  the 
echo  of  the  eternal  music.  Nor  are  those  supreme 


10  POETRY  SUPERIOR    TO  HISTORY. 

poets,  who  have  employed  traditional  forms  of 
rhythm  on  account  of  the  form  and  action  of  their 
subjects,  less  capable  of  perceiving  and  teaching 
the  truth  of  things,  than  those  who  have  omitted 
5  that  form.  Shakespeare,  Dante,  and  Milton  (to 
confine  ourselves  to  modern  writers)  are  philos- 
ophers of  the  very  loftiest  power. 

A  poem  is  the  very  image  of  life  expressed  in  its 
eternal  truth.  There  is  this  difference  between  a 
I  10  story  and  a  poem,  that  a  story  is  a  catalogue  of 
detached  facts,  which  have  no  other  connection 
than  time,  place,  circumstance,  cause  and  effect ; 
the  other  is  the  creation  of  actions  according  to 
the  unchangeable  forms  of  human  nature,  as  exist- 

15  ing  in  the  mind  of  the  creator,  which  is  itself  the 
image  of  all  other  minds.  The  one  is  partial,  and 
applies  only  to  a  definite  period  of  time,  and  a  cer- 
tain combination  of  events  which  can  never  again 
recur ;  the  other  is  universal,  and  contains  within 

20  itself  the  germ  of  a  relation  to  whatever  motives 
or  actions  have  place  in  the  possible  varieties  of 
human  nature.  Time,  which  destroys  the  beauty 
and  the  use  of  the  story  of  particular  facts, 
stripped  of  the  poetry  which  should  invest  them, 

25  augments  that  of  poetry,  and  for  ever  develops  new 
and  wonderful  applications  of  the  eternal  truth 
which  it  contains.  Hence  epitomes  have  been 
called  the  moths  of  just  history;  they  eat  out  the 
poetry  of  it.  A  story  of  particular  facts  is  as  a 

30  mirror  which  obscures  and  distorts  that  which 
should  be  beautiful ;  poetry  is  a  mirror  which 
makes  beautiful  that  which  is  distorted. 

The    parts    of   a  composition   may  be   poetical, 


POETRY  MUST   GIVE  PLEASURE.  11 

without  the  composition  as  a  whole  being  a  poem. 
A  single  sentence  may  be  considered  as  a  whole, 
though  it  may  be  found  in  the  midst  of  a  series  of 
unassimilated  portions  ;  a  single  word  even  may 
be  a  spark  of  inextinguishable  thought.  And  thus 
all  the  great  historians,  Herodotus,  Plutarch,  Livy, 
were  poets  ;  and  although  the  plan  of  these  writers, 
especially  that  of  Livy,  restrained  them  from 
developing  this  faculty  in  its  highest  degree,  they 
made  copious  and  ample  amends  for  their  subjec-  10 
tion,  by  filling  all  the  interstices  of  their  subjects 
with  living  images. 

Having  determined  what  is  poetry,  and  who  are 
poets,  let  us  proceed  to  estimate  its  effects  upon 
society.  15 

Poetry  is  ever  accompanied  with  pleasure  :  all 
spirits  on  which  it  falls  open  themselves  to  receive 
the  wisdom  which  is  mingled  with  its  delight.  In 
the  infancy  of  the  world,  neither  poets  themselves 
nor  their  auditors  are  fully  aware  of  the  excellency  2° 
of  poetry,  for  it  acts  in  a  divine  and  unappre- 
hended  manner,  beyond  and  above  consciousness ; 
and  it  is  reserved  for  future  generations  to  contem- 
plate and  measure  the  mighty  cause  and  effect  in 
all  the  strength  and  splendor  of  their  union.  Even  25 
in  modern  times,  no  living  poet  ever  arrived  at  the 
fulness  of  his  fame  ;  the  jury  which  sits  in  judg- 
ment upon  a  poet,  belonging  as  he  does  to  all  time, 
must  be  composed  of  his  peers ;  it  must  be  impan- 
elled by  Time  from  the  selectest  of  the  wise  of  30 
many  generations.  A  poet  is  a  nightingale,  who 
sits  in  darkness  and  sings  to  cheer  its  own  solitude 
with  sweet  sounds  ;  his  auditors  are  as  men  en- 


12  POETRY  MUST  ELEVATE. 

tranced  by  the  melody  of  an  unseen  musician,  who 
feel  that  they  are  moved  and  softened,  yet  know 
not  whence  or  why.  The  poems  of  Homer  and 
his  contemporaries  were  the  delight  of  infant 
5  Greece ;  they  were  the  elements  of  that  social  sys- 
tem which  is  the  column  upon  which  all  succeeding 
civilization  has  reposed.  Homer  embodied  the 
ideal  perfection  of  his  age  in  human  character ; 
nor  can  we  doubt  that  those  who  read  his  verses 

10  were  awakened  to  an  ambition  of  becoming  like 
to  Achilles,  Hector,  and  Ulysses  ;  the  truth  and 
beauty  of  friendship,  patriotism,  and  persevering 
devotion  to  an  object,  were  unveiled  to  their  depths 
in  these  immortal  creations ;  the  sentiments  of  the 

15  auditors  must  have  been  refined  and  enlarged  by  a 
sympathy  with  such  great  and  lovely  impersona- 
tions, until  from  admiring  they  imitated,  and  from 
imitation  they  identified  themselves  with  the  objects 
of  their  admiration.  Nor  let  it  be  objected  that 

20  these  characters  are  remote  from  moral  perfection, 
and  that  they  are  by  no  means  to  be  considered  as 
edifying  patterns  for  general  imitation.  Every 
epoch,  under  names  more  or  less  specious,  has 
deified  its  peculiar  errors  ;  Revenge  is  the  naked 

25  idol  of  the  worship  of  a  semi-barbarous  age  ;  and 
Self-deceit  is  the  veiled  image  of  unknown  evil, 
before  which  luxury  and  satiety  lie  prostrate.  But 
a  poet  considers  the  vices  of  his  contemporaries  as 
the  temporary  dress  in  which  his  creations  must  be 

30  arrayed,  and  which  cover  without  concealing  the 
eternal  proportions  of  their  beauty.  An  epic  or 
dramatic  personage  is  understood  to  wear  them 
around  his  soul,  as  he  may  the  ancient  armor  or 


POETRY  SUPERIOR    TO  ETHICS.  13 

modern  uniform  around  his  body ;  whilst  it  is  easy 
to  conceive  a  dress  more  graceful  than  either.  The 
beauty  of  the  internal  nature  can  not  be  so  far  con- 
cealed by  its  accidental  vesture,  but  that  the  spirit 
of  its  form  shall  communicate  itself  to  the  very  5 
disguise,  and  indicate  the  shape  it  hides  from  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  worn.  A  majestic  form  and 
graceful  motions  will  express  themselves  through 
the  most  barbarous  and  tasteless  costume.  Few 
poets  of  the  highest  class  have  chosen  to  exhibit  10 
the  beauty  of  their  conceptions  in  its  naked  truth 
and  splendor ;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  alloy 
of  costume,  habit,  etc.,  be  not  necessary  to  tem- 
per this  planetary  music  for  mortal  ears. 

The  whole  objection,  however,  of  the  immorality  15 
of   poetry  rests  upon  a  misconception  of   the  man- 
ner in  which    poetry  acts  to  produce  the   moral 
improvement   of   man.     Ethical    science   arranges 
the  elements  which  poetry  has  created,  and  pro- 
pounds  schemes  and    proposes  examples  of   civil  20 
and  domestic  life ;  nor  is  it  for  want  of   admirable 
doctrines  that  men  hate,  and  despise,  and  censure, 
and  deceive,  and  subjugate  one  another.     But  poe- 
try acts  in  another  and  diviner  manner.    It  awakens 

J 

and  enlarges  the  mind  itself  by  rendering  it  the  25 
receptacle  of  a  thousand  unapprehcnded  combina- 
tions of   thought.     Poetry  lifts  the  veil  from  the 
hidden   beauty  of   the  world,  and   makes  familiar 
objects  be  as  if  they  were  not  familiar  ;   it  repro- 
duces all  that  it  represents,  and  the  impersonations  30 
clothed  in  its  Elysian  light  stand  thenceforward  in 
the  minds  of  those  who  have  once  contemplated 
them,  as  memorials  of  that  gentle  and  exalted  con- 


14  POETRY   WORKS    THROUGH  LOVE. 

tent  which  extends  itself  over  all  thoughts  and 
actions  with  which  it  co-exists.  The  great  secret 
of  morals  is  love  ;  or  a  going  out  of  our  own  nature, 
and  an  identification  of  ourselves  with  the  beauti- 

5  ful  which  exists  in  thought,  action,  or  person,  not 
our  own.  A  man,  to  be  greatly  good,  must  imag- 
ine intensely  and  comprehensively ;  he  must  put 
himself  in  the  place  of  another  and  of  many 
others  ;  the  pains  and  pleasures  of  his  species  must 

10  become  his  own.  The  great  instrument  of  moral 
good  is  the  imagination  ;  and  poetry  administers  to 
the  effect  by  acting  upon  the  cause.  Poetry  en- 
larges the  circumference  of  the  imagination  by 
replenishing  it  with  thoughts  of  ever  new  delight, 

15  which    have  the  power  of   attracting  and  assimi- 
lating to  their  own  nature  all  other  thoughts,  and 
which  form  new  intervals  and   interstices  whose 
/oid  for  eve,r  craves  fresh  food.    Poetry  strengthens 
the  faculty  which  is  the  organ  of  the  moral  nature 

20  of  man,  in  the  same  manner  as  exercise  strength- 
ens a  limb.  A  poet  therefore  would  do  ill  to 
embody  his  own  conceptions  of  right  and  wrong, 
which  are  usually  those  of  his  place  and  time,  in 
his  poetical  creations,  which  participate  in  neither. 

25  By  this  assumption  of  the  inferior  office  of  inter- 
preting the  effect,  in  which  perhaps  after  all  he 
might  acquit  himself  but  imperfectly,  he  would 
resign  a  glory  in  the  participation  of  the  cause. 
There  was  little  danger  that  Homer,  or  any  of  the 

30  eternal  poets,  should  have  so  far  misunderstood 
themselves  as  to  have  abdicated  this  throne  of 
their  widest  dominion.  Those  in  whom  the  poet- 
ical faculty,  though  great,  is  less  intense,  as  Euri- 


THE  DRAMA  AND  LYRIC  AT  ATHENS.  15 

pides,  Lucan,  Tasso,  Spenser,  have  frequently 
affected  a  moral  aim,  and  the  effect  of  their  poetry 
is  diminished  in  exact  proportion  to  the  degree  in 
which  they  compel  us  to  advert  to  this  purpose. 

Homer  and  the  cyclic  poets  were  followed  at  a  5 
certain  interval  by  the  dramatic  and  lyrical  poets  of 
Athens,    who   flourished    contemporaneously   with 
all  that  is  most  perfect  in  the  kindred  expressions 
of  the  poetical  faculty :  architecture,  painting,  music, 
the  dance,  sculpture,  philosophy,  and  we  may  add,  10 
the  forms  of  civil  life.     For  although  the  scheme 
of  Athenian  society  was  deformed  by  many  imper- 
fections which  the  poetry  existing  in  chivalry  and 
Christianity  has  erased  from  the  habits  and  insti- 
tutions of  modern  Europe ;  yet  never  at  any  other  15 
period  has  so   much   energy,    beauty,   and    virtue 
been   developed ;    never  was   blind   strength   and 
stubborn  form  so  disciplined  and  rendered  subject 
to  the  will  of  man,  or  that  will  less  repugnant  to 
the  dictates  of  the  beautiful  and  the  true,  as  during  20 
the  century  which  preceded  the  death  of  Socrates. 
Of   no  other  epoch  in  the  history  of  our  species 
have  we  records  and  fragments  stamped  so  visibly 
with  the  image  of  the  divinity  in  man.     But  it  is 
poetry  alone,  in  form,  in  action,  and  in  language,  25 
which  has  rendered  this  epoch  memorable  above  all 
others,  and  the  storehouse  of  examples  to  everlast- 
ing time.    For  written  poetry  existed  at  that  epoch 
simultaneously  with  the  other  arts,  and  it  is  an  idle 
inquiry  to  demand  which  gave  and  which  received  30 
the  light,  which  all,  as  from  a  common  focus,  have 
scattered  over  the  darkest  periods  of   succeeding 
time.     We  know  no  more  of  cause  and  effect  than 


16        DRAMATIC  REPRESENTATION  AT  ATHENS. 

a  constant  conjunction  of  events  ;  poetry  is  ever 
found  to  co-exist  with  whatever  other  arts  contrib- 
ute to  the  happiness  and  perfection  of  man.  I 
appeal  to  what  has  already  been  established  to  dis- 

s  tinguish  between  the  cause  and  the  effect. 

It  was  at  the  period  here  adverted  to  that  the 
drama  had  its  birth  ;  and  however  a  succeeding 
writer  may  have  equalled  or  surpassed  those  few 
great  specimens  of  the  Athenian  drama  which  have 

10  been  preserved  to  us,  it  is  indisputable  that  the  art 
itself  never  was  understood  or  practised  according 
to  the  true  philosophy  of  it,  as  at  Athens.  For 
the  Athenians  employed  language,  action,  music, 
painting,  the  dance,  and  religious  institution,  to 

15  produce  a  common  effect  in  the  representation  of 
the  highest  idealisms  of  passion  and  of  power ; 
each  division  in  the  art  was  made  perfect  in  its 
kind  by  artists  of  the  most  consummate  skill,  and 
was  disciplined  into  a  beautiful  proportion  and 

20  unity  one  towards  the  other.  On  the  modern  stage 
a  few  only  of  the  elements  capable  of  expressing 
the  image  of  the  poet's  conception  are  employed  at 
once.  We  have  tragedy  without  music  and  danc- 
ing, and  music  and  dancing  without  the  highest 

25  impersonations  of  which  they  are  the  fit  accom- 
paniment, and  both  without  religion  and  solemnity. 
Religious  institution  has  indeed  been  usually  ban- 
ished from  the  stage.  Our  system  of  divesting 
the  actor's  face  of  a  mask,  on  which  the  many 

30  expressions  appropriated  to  his  dramatic  character 
might  be  moulded  into  one  permanent  and  unchang- 
ing expression,  is  favorable  only  to  a  partial  and 
inharmonious  effect ;  it  is  fit  for  nothing  but  a 


KING  LEAR   THE  MOST  PERFECT  DRAMA.         17 

monologue,  where  all  the  attention  may  be  directed 
to^ome  great  master  of  ideal  mimicry.  The  mod- 
ern practice  of  blending  comedy  with  tragedy, 
though  liable  to  great  abuse  in  point  of  practice,  is 
undoubtedly  an  extension  of  the  dramatic  circle ;  5 
but  the  comedy  should  be  as  in  King  Lear,  univer- 
sal, ideal,  and  sublime.  It  is  perhaps  the  interven- 
tion of  this  principle  which  determines  the  balance 
in  favor  of  King  Lear  against  the  QEdipus  Tyran- 
nus  or  the  Agamemnon,  or,  if  you  will,  the  trilogies  10 
with  which  they  are  connected  ;  unless  the  intense 
power  of  the  choral  poetry,  especially  that  of  the 
latter,  should  be  considered  as  restoring  the  equilib- 
rium. King  Lear,  if  it  can  sustain  this  comparison, 
may  be  judged  to  be  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  15 
the  dramatic  art  existing  in  the  world,  in  spite  of 
the  narrow  conditions  to  which  the  poet  was  sub- 
jected by  the  ignorance  of  the  philosophy  of  the 
drama  which  has  prevailed  in  modern  Europe. 
Calderon,  in  his  religious  Autos,  has  attempted  to  20 
fulfil  some  of  the  high  conditions  of  dramatic  rep- 
resentation neglected  by  Shakespeare  ;  such  as  the 
establishing  a  relation  between  the  drama  and 
religion,  and  the  accommodating  them  to  music 
and  dancing ;  but  he  omits  the  observation  of  con-  25 
ditions  still  more  important,  and  more  is  lost  than 
gained  by  the  substitution  of  the  rigidly-defined 
and  ever-repeated  idealisms  of  a  distorted  supersti- 
tion for  the  living  impersonations  of  the  truth  of 
human  passion.  30 

But  I  digress. — The  connection  of  scenic  exhi- 
bitions with  the  improvement  or  corruption  of  the 
manners  of  men  has  been  universally  recognized  ; 


18  MORAL  EFFECTS   OF   TRAGEDY. 

in  other  words,  the  presence  or  absence  of  poetry 
in  its  most  perfect  and  universal  form  has  been 
found  to  be  connected  with  good  and  evil  in  con- 
duct or  habit.  The  corruption  which  has  been 
5  imputed  to  the  drama  as  an  effect  begins  when 
the  poetry  employed  in  its  constitution  ends ;  I 
appeal  to  the  history  of  manners  whether  the 
periods  of  the  growth  of  the  one  and  the  decline 
of  the  other  have  not  corresponded  with  an  exact- 
10  ness  equal  to  any  example  of  moral  cause  and 
effect. 

The  drama  at  Athens,  or  wheresoever  else  it 
may  have  approached  to  its  perfection,  ever  co- 
existed with  the  moral  and  intellectual  greatness  of 
15  the  age.  The  tragedies  of  the  Athenian  poets  are 
as  mirrors  in  which  the  spectator  beholds  himself, 
under  a  thin  disguise  of  circumstance,  stripped  of  all 
but  that  ideal  perfection  and  energy  which  every 
one  feels  to  be  the  internal  type  of  all  that  he 
20  loves,  admires,  and  would  become.  The  imagina- 
tion is  enlarged  by  a  sympathy  with  pains  and 
passions  so  mighty,  that  they  distend  in  their 
conception  the  capacity  of  that  by  which  they  are 
conceived  ;  the  good  affections  are  strengthened  by 
25  pity,  indignation,  terror  and  sorrow,  and  an  exalted 
calm  is  prolonged  from  the  satiety  of  this  high 
exercise  of  them  into  the  tumult  of  familiar  life  ; 
even  crime  is  disarmed  of  half  its  horror  and  all 
its  contagion  by  being  represented  as  the  fatal  con- 
so  sequence  of  the  unfathomable  agencies  of  nature  ; 
error  is  thus  divested  of  its  wilfulness  ;  men  can 
no  longer  cherish  it  as  the  creation  of  their  choice. 
In  the  drama  of  the  highest  order  there  is  little  food 


SOCIAL  DECAY  INFECTS  POETRY.  19 

for  censure  or  hatred  ;  it  teaches  rather  self-knowl- 
edge and  self-respect.  Neither  the  eye  nor  the 
mind  can  see  itself,  unless  reflected  upon  that 
which  it  resembles.  The  drama,  so  long  as  it 
continues  to  express  poetry,  is  a  prismatic  and  5 
many-sided  mirror,  which  collects  the  brightest 
rays  of  human  nature  and  divides  and  reproduces 
them  from  the  simplicity  of  their  elementary 
forms,  and  touches  them  with  majesty  and  beauty, 
and  multiplies  all  that  it  reflects,  and  endows  it  10 
with  the  power  of  propagating  its  like  wherever  it 
may  fall. 

But  in  periods  of  the  decay  of  social  life,  the 
drama  sympathizes  with  that  decay.  Tragedy  be- 
comes a  cold  imitation  of  the  forms  of  the  great 
masterpieces  of  antiquity,  divested  of  all  harmo- 
nious accompaniment  of  the  kindred  arts  ;  and  often 
the  very  form  misunderstood,  or  a  weak  attempt  to 
teach  certain  doctrines  which  the  writer  considers 
as  moral  truths,  and  which  are  usually  no  more  2° 
than  specious  flatteries  of  some  gross  vice  or  weak- 
ness with  which  the  author,  in  common  with  his 
auditors,  are  infected.  Hence  what  has  been  called  I 
the  classical  and  domestic  drama.  Addison's 
'  Cato '  is  a  specimen  of  the  one  ;  and  would  it  25 
were  not  superfluous  to  cite  examples  of  the  other  ! 
To  such  purposes  poetry  cannot  be  made  subser- 
vient. Poetry  is  a  sword  of  lightning,  ever  un- 
sheathed, which  consumes  the  scabbard  that  would 
contain  it.  And  hence  we  observe  that  all  dramatic  30 
writings  of  this  nature  are  unimaginative  in  a  sin- 
gular degree  ;  they  affect  sentiment  and  passion, 
which,  divested  of  imagination,  are  other  names 


20  RESTORATION  DRAMA    CORRUPT. 

for  caprice  and  appetite.  The  period  in  our  own 
history  of  the  grossest  degradation  of  the  drama 
is  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  when  all  forms  in  which 
poetry  had  been  accustomed  to  be  expressed  be- 
s  came  hymns  to  the  triumph  of  kingly  power  over 
liberty  and  virtue.  Milton  stood  alone,  illuminat- 
ing an  age  unworthy  of  him.  At  such  periods 
the  calculating  principle  pervades  all  the  forms  of 
dramatic  exhibition,  and  poetry  ceases  to  be 

10  expressed  upon  them.  Comedy  loses  its  ideal  uni- 
versality ;  wit  succeeds  to  humor ;  we  laugh  from 
self-complacency  and  triumph,  instead  of  pleasure  ; 
malignity,  sarcasm,  and  contempt  succeed  to  sym- 
pathetic merriment ;  we  hardly  laugh,  but  we  smile. 

15  Obscenity,  which  is  ever  blasphemy  against  the 
divine  beauty  in  life,  becomes,  from  the  very  veil 
which  it  assumes,  more  active  if  less  disgusting ; 
it  is  a  monster  for  which  the  corruption  of  society 
for  ever  brings  forth  new  food,  which  it  devours  in 

20  secret. 

The  drama  being  that  form  under  which  a  greater 
number  of  modes  of  expression  of  poetry  are  sus- 
ceptible of  being  combined  than  any  other,  the 
connection  of  poetry  and  social  good  is  more 

25  observable  in  the  drama  than  in  whatever  other 
form.  And  it  is  indisputable  that  the  highest  per- 
fection of  human  society  has  ever  corresponded 
with  the  highest  dramatic  excellence ;  and  that  the 
corruption  or  the  extinction  of  the  drama  in  a 

30  nation  where  it  has  once  flourished,  is  a  mark  of  a 
corruption  of  manners,  and  an  extinction  of  the 
energies  which  sustain  the  soul  of  social  life.  But, 
as  Machiavelli  says  of  political  institutions,  that 


THE   ALEXANDRIAN  POETRY.  21 

life  may  be  preserved  and  renewed,  if  men  should 
arise  capable  of  bringing  back  the  drama  to  its 
principles.  And  this  is  true  with  respect  to  poetry 
in  its  most  extended  sense  ;  all  language,  institution 
and  form,  require  not  only  to  be  produced  but  to  be  5 
sustained  ;  the  office  and  character  of  a  poet  par- 
ticipates in  the  divine  nature  as  regards  providence, 
no  less  than  as  regards  creation. 

Civil  war,  the  spoils  of  Asia,  and  the  fatal  pre- 
dominance   first  of   the  Macedonian,  and   then  of  10 
the    Roman   arms,  were  so  many  symbols  of   the 
extinction  or  suspension  of  the  creative  faculty  in 
Greece.     The  bucolic  writers,  who  found  patronage     I 
under  the   lettered    tyrants  of   Sicily  and  Egypt,     1 
were  the  latest  representatives  of  its  most  glorious  15 
reign.     Their  poetry  is  intensely  melodious  ;  like 
the  odor  of  the  tuberose,  it  overcomes  and  sickens 
the   spirit  with    excess  of  sweetness ;    whilst   the 
poetry  of  the  preceding  age  was  as  a  meadow-gale 
of  June,  which  mingles  the  fragrance  of   all  the  20 
flowers  of   the  field,  and  adds  a   quickening   and 
harmonizing  spirit  of   its  own  which   endows  the 
sense   with   a   power   of    sustaining    its    extreme 
delight.     The  bucolic  and  erotic  delicacy  in  written 
poetry  is  correlative  with  that  softness  in  statuary,  25 
music,  and  the  kindred  arts,  and  even  in  manners 
and  institutions,  which  distinguished  the  epoch  to 
which  I  now  refer.     Nor  is  it  the  poetical  faculty 
itself,  or   any  misapplication  of  it,  to  which   this 
want  of  harmony  is  to  be  imputed.    An  equal  sen-  30 
sibility  to  the  influence  of  the  senses  and  the  affec- 
tions is  to  be  found  in  the  writings  of  Homer  and 
Sophocles  ;  the  former,  especially,  has  clothed  sen- 


22       REDEEMING    TRAITS   OF  IDYLLIC  POETRY. 

sual  and  pathetic  images  with  irresistible  attrac- 
tions. Their  superiority  over  these  succeeding 
writers  consists  in  the  presence  of  those  thoughts 
which  belong  to  the  inner  faculties  of  our  nature, 
5  not  in  the  absence  of  those  which  are  connected 
with  the  external ;  their  incomparable  perfection 
consists  in  a  harmony  of  the  union  of  all.  It  is 
not  what  the  erotic  poets  have,  but  what  they  have 
not,  in  which  their  imperfection  consists.  It  is  not 
10  inasmuch  as  they  were  poets,  but  inasmuch  as  they 
were  not  poets,  that  they  can  be  considered  with 
any  plausibility  as  connected  with  the  corruption 
of  their  age.  Had  that  corruption  availed  so  as  to 
extinguish  in  them  the  sensibility  to  pleasure,  pas- 
is  sion,  and  natural  scenery  which  is  imputed  to 
them  as  an  imperfection,  the  last  triumph  of  evil 
would  have  been  achieved.  For  the  end  of  social 
corruption  is  to  destroy  all  sensibility  to  pleasure  ; 
and  therefore  it  is  corruption.  It  begins  at  the 
20  imagination  and  the  intellect  as  at  the  core,  and 
distributes  itself  thence  as  a  paralyzing  venom 
through  the  affections  into  the  very  appetites, 
until  all  become  a  torpid  mass  in  which  hardly 
sense  survives.  At  the  approach  of  such  a  period, 
25  poetry  ever  addresses  itself  to  those  faculties  which 
are  the  last  to  be  destroyed,  and  its  voice  is  heard, 
like  the  footsteps  of  Astraea,  departing  from  the 
world.  Poetry  ever  communicates  all  the  pleasure 
which  men  are  capable  of  receiving  ;  it  is  ever  still 
30  the  light  of  life,  the  source  of  whatever  of  beau- 
tiful or  generous  or  true  can  have  place  in  an  evil 
time.  It  will  readily  be  confessed  that  those 
among  the  luxurious  citizens  of  Syracuse  and 


ROMANS  IMPERFECTLY  POETIC.  23 

Alexandria  who  were  delighted  with  the  poems  of 
Theocritus  were  less  cold,  cruel,  and  sensual  than 
the  remnant  of  their  tribe.  But  corruption  must 
utterly  have  destroyed  the  fabric  of  human  society 
before  poetry  can  ever  cease.  The  sacred  links  of  5 
that  chain  have  never  been  entirely  disjoined, 
which  descending  through  the  minds  of  many  men 
is  attached  to  those  great  minds,  whence  as  from 
a  magnet  the  invisible  effluence  is  sent  forth,  which 
at  once  connects,  animates,  and  sustains  the  life  of  10 
all.  It  is  the  faculty  which  contains  within  itself 
the  seeds  at  once  of  its  own  and  of  social  renova- 
tion. And  let  us  not  circumscribe  the  effects  of 
the  bucolic  and  erotic  poetry  within  the  limits  of 
the  sensibility  of  those  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  15 
They  may  have  perceived  the  beauty  of  those 
immortal  compositions,  simply  as  fragments  and 
isolated  portions  ;  those  who  are  more  finely  organ- 
ized, or  born  in  a  happier  age,  may  recognize  them 
as  episodes  to  that  great  poem,  which  all  poets,  20 
like  the  co-operating  thoughts  of  one  great  mind, 
have  built  up  since  the  beginning  of  the  world. 

The  same  revolution  within  a  narrower  sphere 
had  place  in  ancient  Rome ;  but  the  actions  and 
forms  of  its  social  life  never  seem  to  have  been  25 
perfectly  saturated  with  the  poetical  element.  The 
Romans  appear  to  have  considered  the  Greeks  as 
the  selectest  treasuries  of  the  selectest  forms  of 
manners  and  of  nature,  and  to  have  abstained  from 
creating  in  measured  language,  sculpture,  music,  30 
or  architecture,  any  thing  which  might  bear  a  par- 
ticular relation  to  their  own  condition,  whilst  it 
should  bear  a  general  one  to  the  universal  consti- 


24  POETRY  IN  ROMAN  INSTITUTIONS. 

tution  of  the  world.  But  we  judge  from  partial 
evidence,  and  we  judge  perhaps  partially.  Ennius, 
Varro,  Pacuvius,  and  Accius,  all  great  poets,  have 
been  lost.  Lucretius  is  in  the  highest,  and  Virgil 

5  in  a  very  high  sense,  a  creator.  The  chosen  deli- 
cacy of  expressions  of  the  latter  are  as  a  mist  of 
light  which  conceal  from  us  the  intense  and  exceed- 
ing truth  of  his  conceptions  of  nature.  Livy  is 
instinct  with  poetry.  Yet  Horace,  Catullus,  Ovid, 

10  and  generally  the  other  great  writers  of  the  Vir- 
gilian  age,  saw  man  and  nature  in  the  mirror  of 
Greece.  The  institutions  also,  and  the  religion  of 
Rome,  were  less  poetical  than  those  of  Greece,  as 
the  shadow  is  less  vivid  than  the  substance.  Hence 

15  poetry  in  Rome  seemed  to  follow,  rather  than 
accompany,  the  perfection  of  political  and  domestic 
society.  The  true  poetry  of  Rome  lived  in  its 
institutions  ;  for  whatever  of  beautiful,  of  true  and 
majestic,  they  contained,  could  have  sprung  only 

20  from  the  faculty  which  creates  the  order  in  which 
they  consist.  The  life  of  Camillus,  the  death  of 
Regulus ;  the  expectation  of  the  senators,  in  their 
godlike  state,  of  the  victorious  Gauls  ;  the  refusal 
of  the  republic  to  make  peace  with  Hannibal  after 

25  the  battle  of  Cannae,  were  not  the  consequences  of 
a   refined    calculation    of    the   probable    personal 
advantage  to  result  from  such  a  rhythm  and  order 
in  the  shows  of  life,  to  those  who  were  at  once  the 
poets  and  the  actors  of    these  immortal  dramas. 

3°  The  imagination  beholding  the  beauty  of  this 
order,  created  it  out  of  itself  according  to  its  own 
idea ;  the  consequence  was  empire,  and  the  reward 
everlasting  fame.  These  things  are  not  the  less 


CREATIVE   IDEAS  IN  CHRISTIANITY.  25 

poetry  qnia  carent  vate  sacro.  They  are  the  epi- 
sodes of  that  cyclic  poem  written  by  Time  upon 
the  memories  of  men.  The  Past,  like  an  inspired 
rhapsodist,  fills  the  theatre  of  everlasting  genera- 
tions with  their  harmony.  5 

At  length  the  ancient  system  of  religion  and 
manners  had  fulfilled  the  circle  of  its  evolutions. 
And  the  world  would  have  fallen  into  utter  anarchy 
and  darkness,  but  that  there  were  found  poets 
among  the  authors  of  the  Christian  and  chivalric  xo 
systems  of  manners  and  religion,  who  created 
forms  of  opinion  and  action  never  before  conceived ; 
which,  copied  into  the  imaginations  of  men,  be- 
came as  generals  to  the  bewildered  armies  of  their 
thoughts.  It  is  foreign  to  the  present  purpose  to  15 
touch  upon  the  evil  produced  by  these  systems ; 
except  that  we  protest,  on  the  ground  of  the  prin- 
ciples already  established,  that  no  portion  of  it  can 
be  attributed  to  the  poetry  they  contain. 

It  is   probable   that  the  poetry  of   Moses,  Job,  20 
David,  Solomon,  and  Isaiah  had  produced  a  great 
effect  upon  the  mind  of   Jesus  and  his  disciples. 
The  scattered  fragments  preserved  to  us  by  the 
biographers    of   this   extraordinary  person  are  all 
instinct  with  the  most  vivid  poetry.     But  his  doc-  2S 
trines  seem  to  have  been  quickly  distorted.     At  a 
certain  period  after  the  prevalence  of  a  system  of 
opinions  founded  upon  those  promulgated  by  him, 
the  three  forms  into  which  Plato  had  distributed 
the  faculties  of  mind  underwent  a  sort  of  apothe-  3° 
osis,  and  became  the  object  of  the  worship  of  the 
civilized  world.     Here  it  is  to  be  confessed  that 
"Light"  seems  to  "thicken," 


26         DARK  AGES  LOST   CREATIVE  PRINCIPLE. 

And  the  crow  makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood; 
Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse, 
Whiles  night's  black  agents  to  their  preys  do  rouse. 

But  mark  how  beautiful  an  order  has  sprung  from 
s  the  dust  and  blood  of  this  fierce  chaos !  how  the 
world,  as  from  a  resurrection,  balancing  itself  on 
the  golden  wings  of  knowledge  and  of  hope,  has 
reassumed  its  yet  unwearied  flight  into  the  heaven 
of  time.  Listen  to  the  music,  unheard  by  outward 

10  ears,  which  is  as  a  ceaseless  and  invisible  wind, 
nourishing  its  everlasting  course  with  strength  and 
swiftness. 

The  poetry  in  the  doctrines  of  Jesus  Christ,  and 
the  mythology  and  institutions  of  the  Celtic  con- 

15  querors  of  the  Roman  empire,  outlived  the  dark- 
ness and  the  convulsions  connected  with  their 
growth  and  victory,  and  blended  themselves  in  a 
new  fabric  of  manners  and  opinion.  It  is  an  error 
to  impute  the  ignorance  of  the  Dark  Ages  to  the 

20  Christian  doctrines  or  the  predominance  of  the 
Celtic  nations.  Whatever  of  evil  their  agencies 
may  have  contained  sprang  from  the  'extinction  of 
the  poetical  principle,  connected  with  the  progress 
of  despotism  and  superstition.  Men,  from  causes 
too  intricate  to  be  here  discussed,  had  become 
insensible  and  selfish ;  their  own  will  had  become 
feeble,  and  yet  they  were  its  slaves,  and  thence  the 
slaves  of  the  will  of  others  ;  lust,  fear,  avarice, 
cruelty,  and  fraud,  characterized  a  race  amongst 

30  whom  no  one  was  to  be  found  capable  of  creating 
in  form,  language,  or  institution.  The  moral  anom- 
alies of  such  a  state  of  society  are  not  justly  to  be 
charged  upon  any  class  of  events  immediately  con- 


BENEFICIAL  EFFECTS   OF  CHRISTIANITY.         27 

nected  with  them,  and  those  events  are  most 
entitled  to  our  approbation  which  could  dissolve  it 
most  expeditiously.  It  is  unfortunate  for  those 
who  cannot  distinguish  words  from  thoughts,  that 
many  of  these  anomalies  have  been  incorporated  5 
into  our  popular  religion. 

It  was  not  until  the  eleventh  century  that  the 
effects  of  the  poetry  of  the  Christian  and  chivalric 
systems  began  to  manifest  themselves.  The  prin- 
ciple of  equality  had  been  discovered  and  applied  by  10 
Plato  in  his  Republic,  as  the  theoretical  rule  of  the 
mode  in  which  the  materials  of  pleasure  and  of 
power  produced  by  the  common  skill  and  labor  of 
human  beings  ought  to  be  distributed  among  them. 
The  limitations  of  this  rule  were  asserted  by  him  15 
to  be  determined  only  by  the  sensibility  of  each, 
or  the  utility  to  result  to  all.  Plato,  following  the 
doctrines  of  Timaeus  and  Pythagoras,  taught  also  a 
moral  and  intellectual  system  of  doctrine,  compre- 
hending at  once  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  2° 
future  condition  of  man.  Jesus  Christ  divulged 
the  sacred  and  eternal  truths  contained  in  these 
views  to  mankind,  and  Christianity,  in  its  abstract 
purity,  became  the  exoteric  expression  of  the 
esoteric  doctrines  of  the  poetry  and  wisdom  of  25 
antiquity.  The  incorporation  of  the  Celtic  nations 
with  the  exhausted  population  of  the  south  im- 
pressed upon  it  the  figure  of  the  poetry  existing  in 
their  mythology  and  institutions.  The  result  was 
a  sum  of  the  action  and  reaction  of  all  the  causes  30 
included  in  it ;  for  it  may  be  assumed  as  a  maxim 
that  no  nation  or  religion  can  supersede  any  other 
without  incorporating  into  itself  a  portion  of  that 


28  THE  REVIVAL    OF  POETRY. 

which  it  supersedes.  The  abolition  of  personal 
and  domestic  slavery,  and  the  emancipation  of 
women  from  a  great  part  of  the  degrading  re- 
straints of  antiquity,  were  among  the  consequences 
5  of  these  events. 

The  abolition  of  personal  slavery  is  the  basis  of 
the  highest  political  hope  that  it  can  enter  into  the 
mind  of  man  to  conceive.  The  freedom  of  women 
produced  the  poetry  of  sexual  love.  Love  became 

to  a  religion,  the  idols  of  whose  worship  were  ever 
present.  It  was  as  if  the  statues  of  Apollo  and 
the  Muses  had  been  endowed  with  life  and  motion, 
and  had  walked  forth  among  their  worshippers  ;  so 
that  earth  became  peopled  by  the  inhabitants  of  a 

15  diviner  world.  The  familiar  appearances  and  pro- 
ceedings of  life  became  wonderful  and  heavenly, 
and  a  paradise  was  created  as  out  of  the  wrecks  of 
Eden.  And  as  this  creation  itself  is  poetry,  so  its 
creators  were  poets,  and  language  was  the  instru- 

20  ment  of  their  art :  "  Galeotto  fu  il  libro,  e  chi  lo 
scrisse."  The  Provencal  Trouveurs,  or  inventors, 
preceded  Petrarch,  whose  verses  are  as  spells 
which  unseal  the  inmost  enchanted  fountains  of 
the  delight  which  is  in  the  grief  of  love.  It  is 

25  impossible  to  feel  them  without  becoming  a  portion 
of  that  beauty  which  we  contemplate ;  it  were 
superfluous  to  explain  how  the  gentleness  and 
elevation  of  mind  connected  with  these  sacred 
emotions  can  render  men  more  amiable,  more  gen- 

30  erous  and  wise,  and  lift  them  out  of  the  dull  vapors 
of  the  little  world  of  self.  Dante  understood  the 
secret  things  of  love  even  more  than  Petrarch. 
His  Vita.  Nuova  is  an  inexhaustible  fountain  of 


THE  APOTHEOSIS   OF  BEATRICE.  29 

purity  of  sentiment  and  language ;  it  is  the  ideal- 
ized history  of  that  period  and  those  intervals  of 
his  life  which  were  dedicated  to  love.  His  apoth- 
eosis of  Beatrice  in  Paradise,  and  the  gradations  of 
his  own  love  and  her  loveliness,  by  which  as  by  s 
steps  he  feigns  himself  to  have  ascended  to  the 
throne  of  the  Supreme  Cause,  is  the  most  glorious 
imagination  of  modern  poetry.  The  acutest  critics 
have  justly  reversed  the  judgment  of  the  vulgar 
and  the  order  of  the  great  acts  of  the  Divina  10 
Commedia,  in  the  measure  of  the  admiration  which 
they  accord  to  the  Hell,  Purgatory,  and  Paradise. 
The  latter  is  a  perpetual  hymn  of  everlasting  love. 
Love,  which  found  a  worthy  poet  in  Plato  alone  of 
all  the  ancients,  has  been  celebrated  by  a  chorus  of  15 
the  greatest  writers  of  the  renovated  world ;  and 
the  music  has  penetrated  the  caverns  of  society, 
and  its  echoes  still  drown  the  dissonance  of  arms 
and  superstition.  At  successive  intervals,  Ariosto, 
Tasso,  Shakespeare,  Spenser,  Calderon,  Rousseau,  20 
and  the  great  writers  of  our  own  age,  have  cele- 
brated the  dominion  of  love,  planting  as  it  were  tro- 
phies in  the  human  mind  of  that  sublimest  victory 
over  sensuality  and  force.  The  true  relation  borne 
to  each  other  by  the  sexes  into  which  human  kind  25 
is  distributed  has  become  less  misunderstood ;  and 
if  the  error  which  confounded  diversity  with  ine- 
quality of  the  powers  of  the  two  sexes  has  been 
partially  recognized  in  the  opinions  and  institutions 
of  modern  Europe,  we  owe  this  great  benefit  to  30 
the  worship  of  which  chivalry  was  the  law,  and 
poets  the  prophets. 

The  poetry  of  Dante  may  be  considered  as  the 


30  DANTE  AND  MILTON. 

bridge  thrown  over  the  stream  of  time,  which 
unites  the  modern  and  ancient  world.  The  dis- 
torted notions  of  invisible  things  which  Dante  and 
his  rival  Milton  have  idealized,  are  merely  the 
5  mask  and  the  mantle  in  which  these  great  poets 
walk  through  eternity  enveloped  and  disguised.  It 
is  a  difficult  question  to  determine  how  far  they 
were  conscious  of  the  distinction  which  must  have 
subsisted  in  their  minds  between  their  own  creeds 

10  and  that  of  the  people.  Dante  at  least  appears  to 
wish  to  mark  the  full  extent  of  it  by  placing 
Riphaeus,  whom  Virgil  calls  justissimns  unns,  in 
Paradise,  and  observing  a  most  heretical  caprice  in 
his  distribution  of  rewards  and  punishments.  And 

15  Milton's  poem  contains  within  itself  a  philosophical 
refutation  of  that  system,  of  which,  by  a  strange 
and  natural  antithesis,  it  has  been  a  chief  popular 
support.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  energy  and  mag- 
nificence of  the  character  of  Satan  as  expressed  in 

20  Paradise  Lost.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
he  could  ever  have  been  intended  for  the  popular 
personification  of  evil.  Implacable  hate,  patient 
cunning,  and  a  sleepless  refinement  of  device  to 
inflict  the  extremest  anguish  on  an  enemy,  these 

25  things  are  evil ;  and,  although  venial  in  a  slave,  are 
not  to  be  forgiven  in  a  tyrant ;  although  redeemed 
by  much  that  ennobles  his  defeat  in  one  subdued, 
are  marked  by  all  that  dishonors  his  conquest  in 
the  victor.  Milton's  Devil  as  a  moral  being  is  as 

30  far  superior  to  his  God,  as  one  who  perseveres  in 
some  purpose  which  he  has  conceived  to  be  excel- 
lent, in  spite  of  adversity  and  torture,  is  to  one  who 
in  the  cold  security  of  undoubted  triumph  inflicts 


DANTE    THE   SECOND  EPIC  POET.  31 

the  most  horrible   revenge   upon  his  enemy,   not 
from    any   mistaken   notion    of    inducing   him    to 
repent  of  a  perseverance  in  enmity,  but  with  the 
alleged  design  of  exasperating  him  to  deserve  new 
torments.     Milton  has  so  far  violated  the  popular  5 
creed  (if  this  shall  be  judged  to  be  a  violation)  as 
to  have  alleged  no  superiority  of  moral  virtue  to 
his  God  over  his  Devil.     And  this  bold  neglect  of 
a  direct  moral  purpose  is  the  most  decisive  proof 
of  the  supremacy  of  Milton's  genius.     He  mingled  10 
as  it  were  the  elements  of  human  nature  as  colors 
upon  a  single    pallet,  and  arranged  them   in  the 
composition  of  his  great  picture  according  to  the 
laws  of  epic  truth,  that  is,  according  to  the  laws 
of  that  principle  by  which  a  series  of  actions  of  15 
the  external  universe  and  of  intelligent  and  ethical 
beings  is    calculated   to    excite   the    sympathy  of 
succeeding  generations  of  mankind.     The  Divina     . 
Commedia  and  Paradise  Lost  have  conferred  upon     1 
modern  mythology  a  systematic  form  ;  and  when  20' 
change  and  time  shall  have  added  one  more  super- 
stition to  the  mass  of  those  which  have  arisen  and 
decayed   upon   the    earth,    commentators   will   be 
learnedly  employed  in  elucidating  the  religion  of 
ancestral    Europe,  only  not  utterly  forgotten   be-  25 
cause  it  will  have  been  stamped  with  the  eternity 
of  genius. 

Homer  was  the  first  and  Dante  the  second  epic 
poet :  that  is,  the  second  poet,  the  series  of  whose 
creations  bore  a  defined  and  intelligible  relation  to  30 
the  knowledge  and  sentiment  and  religion  of  the 
age  in  which  he  lived,  and  of  the  ages  which  fol- 
lowed it,  developing  itself  in  correspondence  with 


32  MILTON   THE    THIRD  EPIC  POET. 

their  development.  For  Lucretius  had  limed  the 
wings  of  his  swift  spirit  in  the  dregs  of  the  sen- 
sible world  ;  and  Virgil,  with  a  modesty  that  ill 
became  his  genius,  had  affected  the  fame  of  an 
5  imitator,  even  whilst  he  created  anew  all  that  he 
copied ;  and  none  among  the  flock  of  mock-birds, 
though  their  notes  are  sweet,  Apollonius  Rhodius, 
Quintus  (Calaber)  Smyrnaeus,  Nonnus,  Lucan,  Sta- 
tius,  or  Claudian,  have  sought  even  to  fulfil  a  single 

10  condition  of  epic  truth.  Milton  was  the  third  epic 
poet.  For  if  the  title  of  epic  in  its  highest  sense 
be  refused  to  the  yEneid,  still  less  can  it  be  con- 
ceded to  the  Orlando  Furioso,  the  Gerusalemme 
Liberata,  the  Lusiad,  or  the  Fairy  Queen. 

15  Dante  and  Milton  were  both  deeply  penetrated 
with  the  ancient  religion  of  the  civilized  world, 
and  its  spirit  exists  in  their  poetry  probably  in  the 
same  proportion  as  its  forms  survived  in  the  unre- 
formed  worship  of  modern  Europe.  The  one  pre- 

20  ceded  and  the  other  followed  the  Reformation  at 
almost  equal  intervals.  Dante  was  the  first  relig- 
ious reformer,  and  Luther  surpassed  him  rather  in 
the  rudeness  and  acrimony,  than  in  the  boldness 
of  his  censures  of  papal  usurpation.  Dante  was 

25  the  first  awakener  of  entranced  Europe ;  he 
created  a  language,  in  itself  music  and  persuasion, 
out  of  a  chaos  of  inharmonious  barbarisms.  He 
was  the  congregator  of  those  great  spirits  who  pre- 
sided over  the  resurrection  of  learning,  the  Lucifer 

30  of  that  starry  flock  which  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury shone  forth  from  republican  Italy,  as  from  a 
heaven,  into  the  darkness  of  the  benighted  world. 
His  very  words  are  instinct  with  spirit ;  each  is 


DANTE  A   REFORMER.  33 

as  a  spark,  a  burning  atom  of  inextinguishable 
thought ;  and  many  yet  lie  covered  in  the  ashes 
of  their  birth,  and  pregnant  with  a  lightning  which 
has  yet  found  no  conductor.  All  high  poetry  is 
infinite  ;  it  is  as  the  first  acorn,  which  contained  all  5 
oaks  potentially.  Veil  after  veil  may  be  undrawn, 
and  the  inmost  naked  beauty  of  the  meaning  never 
exposed.  A  great  poem  is  a  fountain  for  ever  over- 
flowing with  the  waters  of  wisdom  and  delight ; 
and  after  one  person  and  one  age  has  exhausted  all  10 
its  divine  effluence  which  their  peculiar  relations 
enable  them  to  share,  another  and  yet  another  suc- 
ceeds, and  new  relations  are  ever  developed,  the 
source  of  an  unforeseen  and  an  unconceived  de- 
light. 15 

The  age  immediately  succeeding  to  that  of 
Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Boccaccio,  was  characterized 
by  a  revival  of  painting,  sculpture,  and  architec- 
ture. Chaucer  caught  the  sacred  inspiration,  and 
the  superstructure  of  English  literature  is  based  2o 
upon  the  materials  of  Italian  invention. 

But  let  us  not  be  betrayed  from  a  defense  into  a 
critical  history  of  poetry  and  its  influence  on  soci- 
ety.    Be  it  enough  to  have  pointed  out  the  effects 
of  poets,  in  the  large  and  true  sense  of  the  word,  25 
upon  their  own  and  all  succeeding  times. 

But  poets  have  been  challenged  to  resign  the 
civic  crown  to  reasoners  and  mechanists,  on  an- 
other plea.  It  is  admitted  that  the  exercise  of  the 
imagination  is  most  delightful,  but  it  is  alleged  30 
that  that  of  reason  is  more  useful.  Let  us  exam- 
ine, as  the  grounds  of  this  distinction,  what  is  here 
meant  by  utility.  Pleasure  or  good,  in  a  general 


34  POETS    VERSUS  REASONERS. 

sense,  is  that  which  the  consciousness  of  a  sensi- 
tive and  intelligent  being  seeks,  and  in  which,  when 
found,  it  acquiesces.  There  are  two  kinds  of  pleas- 
ure, one  durable,  universal,  and  permanent  ;  the 
5  other  transitory  and  particular.  Utility  may  either 
express  the  means  of  producing  the  former  or  the 
latter.  In  the  former  sense,  whatever  strengthens 
and  purifies  the  affections,  enlarges  the  imagination, 
and  adds  spirit  to  sense,  is  useful.  But  a  narrower 

10  meaning  may  be  assigned  to  the  word  utility,  con- 
fining it  to  express  that  which  banishes  the  im- 
portunity of  the  wants  of  our  animal  nature,  the 
surrounding  men  with  security  of  life,  the  dispers- 
ing the  grosser  delusions  of  superstition,  and  the 

15  conciliating  such  a  degree  of  mutual  forbearance 
among  men  as  may  consist  with  the  motives  of 
personal  advantage. 

Undoubtedly  the   promoters  of    utility,  in  this 
limited  sense,  have  their  appointed  office  in  society. 

20  They  follow  the  footsteps  of  poets,  and  copy  the 
sketches  of  their  creations  into  the  book  of  com- 
mon life.  They  make  space  and  give  time.  Their 
exertions  are  of  the  highest  value,  so  long  as  they 
confine  their  administration  of  the  concerns  of  the 

25  inferior  powers  of  our  nature  within  the  limits  due 
to  the  superior  ones.  But  whilst  the  sceptic 
destroys  gross  superstitions,  let  him  spare  to  de- 
face, as  some  of  the  French  writers  have  defaced, 
the  eternal  truths  charactered  upon  the  imagina- 

30  tions  of  men.  Whilst  the  mechanist  abridges,  and 
the  political  economist  combines  labor,  let  them 
beware  that  their  speculations,  for  want  of  corre- 
spondence with  those  first  principles  which  belong 


HIGHEST  PLEASURE  LINKED    WITH  PAIN.        35 

to  the  imagination,  do  not  tend,  as  they  have  in 
modern    England,  to    exasperate  at  once  the  ex-       / 
tremes  of  luxury  and  of  want.    They  have  exempli- 
fied the  saying,  "  To  him  that  hath,  more  shall  be 
given ;  and  from  him  that  hath  not,  the  little  that  s 
he  hath  shall  be   taken   away."     The    rich   have 
become  richer,  and  the  poor  have  become  poorer ; 
and  the  vessel  of  the  state  is  driven  between  the 
Scylla  and   Charybdis  of  anarchy  and  despotism. 
Such  are  the  effects  which  must  ever  flow  from  an  10 
unmitigated  exercise  of  the  calculating  faculty. 

It  is  difficult  to  define   pleasure  in  its   highest 
sense,  the  definition  involving  a  number  of  appar- 
ent paradoxes.     For,  from  an  inexplicable  defect  of 
harmony  in  the  constitution  of   human  nature,  the  1.5 
pain  of   the  inferior  is  frequently  connected  with    \ 
the    pleasures    of    the    superior'  portions    of    our 
being.      Sorrow,  terror,  anguish,  despair  itself,  are 
often  the  chosen  expressions  of  an  approximation 
to  the  highest  good.     Our  sympathy  in  tragic  fie-  2c 
tion  depends  on  this  principle  ;  tragedy  delights  by 
affording  a  shadow  of  that  pleasure  which  exists  in 
pain.     This  is  the  source  also  of  the  melancholy 
which    is  inseparable  from  the  sweetest  melody. 
The  pleasure  that  is  in  sorrow  is  sweeter  than  the  25 
pleasure  of  pleasure  itself.    And  hence  the  saying, 
"It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than 
to  the  house  of    mirth."     Not  that  this  highest 
species  of  pleasure  is  necessarily  linked  with  pain. 
The  delight  of  love  and  friendship,  the  ecstasy  of  30 
the  admiration  of  nature,  the  joy  of  the  percep- 
tion and  still  more  of    the  creation  of   poetry,  is 
often  wholly  unalloyed. 


36  INFERIORITY  OF  PROSAIC  REASONERS. 

The  production  and  assurance  of  pleasure  in 
this  highest  sense  is  true  utility.  Those  who  pro- 
duce and  preserve  this  pleasure  are  poets  or  poetical 
philosophers. 

'  Y      The  exertions  of  Locke,  Hume,  Gibbon,  Voltaire, 
/  Rousseau,  and  their  disciples,  in  favor  of  oppressed 
/    and  deluded  humanity,  are  entitled  to  the  gratitude 
/     of  mankind.    Yet  it  is  easy  to  calculate  the  degree 
/      of  moral  and  intellectual  improvement  which  the 
/  10  world  would  have  exhibited,  had  they  never  lived. 
A  little  more  nonsense  would  have  been  talked  for 
a  century  or  two ;  and  perhaps  a  few  more  men, 
women,  and  children  burnt  as  heretics.     We  might 
not  at  this  moment  have  been  congratulating  each 
15  other  on  the  abolition  of  the  Inquisition  in  Spain. 
But  it  exceeds  all  imagination  to   conceive  what 
would  have  been  the  moral  condition  of   the  world 
if    neither    Dante,   Petrarch,   Boccaccio,   Chaucer, 
Shakespeare,  Calderon,   Lord   Bacon,   nor  Milton, 
20  had  ever  existed ;  if  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo 
had  never  been  born  ;  if   the  Hebrew  poetry  had 
\     never  been  translated  ;  if  a  revival  of  the  study  of 
'    Greek  literature  had    never   taken    place ;    if    no 
monuments  of  ancient  sculpture  had  been  handed 
25  down  to  us  ;  and  if  the  poetry  of   the  religion  of 
the  ancient  world  had  been  extinguished  together 
with  its  belief.     The   human    mind    could   never, 
except  by  the  intervention  of   these  excitements, 
have  been  awakened  to  the  invention  of  the  grosser 
30  sciences,  and  that  application  of  analytical  reason- 
ing to  the  aberrations  of  society  which  it  is  now 
attempted  to  exalt  over  the  direct  expression  of  the 
inventive  and  creative  faculty  itself. 


CALCULATION  HAS   OUTRUN  CONCEPTION.       37 

We  have  more  moral,  political,  and  historical 
wisdom  than  we  know  how  to  reduce  into  practice  ; 
we  have  more  scientific  and  economical  knowledge 
than  can  be  accommodated  to  the  just  distribution 
of  the  produce  which  it  multiplies.  The  poetry  5 
in  these  systems  of  thought  is  concealed  by  the 
accumulation  of  facts  and  calculating  processes. 
There  is  no  want  of  knowledge  respecting  what  is 
wisest  and  best  in  morals,  government,  and  political 
economy,  or  at  least  what  is  wiser  and  better  than  10 
what  men  now  practise  and  endure.  But  we  let 
"  /  dare  not  wait  upon  /  would,  like  the  poor  cat  in 
the  adage."  We  want  the  creative  faculty  to  imagine 
that  which  we  know ;  we  want  the  generous  im- 
pulse to  act  that  which  we  imagine  ;  we  want  the  15 
poetry  of  life :  our  calculations  have  outrun  con- 
ception ;  we  have  eaten  more  than  we  can  digest. 
The  cultivation  of  those  sciences  which  have 
enlarged  the  limits  of  the  empire  of  man  over  the 
external  world,  has,  for  want  of  the  poetical  fac-  20 
ulty,  proportionally  circumscribed  those  of  the 
internal  world ;  and  man,  having  enslaved  the  ele- 
ments, remains  himself  a  slave.  To  what  but  a 
cultivation  of  the  mechanical  arts  in  a  degree  dis- 
proportioned  to  the  presence  of  the  creative  faculty,  25 
which  is  the  basis  of  all  knowledge,  is  to  be 
attributed  the  abuse  of  all  invention  for  abridging 
and  combining  labor,  to  the  exasperation  of  the 
inequality  of  mankind  ?  From  what  other  cause 
has  it  arisen  that  the  discoveries  which  should  have  30 
lightened,  have  added  a  weight  to  the  curse  imposed 
on  Adam  ?  Poetry,  and  the  principle  of  Self  of 


38  POETRY  LARGER    THAN  SCIENCE. 

which   money  is   the  visible   incarnation,  are   the 
God  and  Mammon  of  the  world. 

The  functions  of  the  poetical  faculty  are  two- 
fold :  by  one  it  creates  new  materials  of  knowledge, 

5  and  power,  and  pleasure  ;  by  the  other  it  engenders 
in  the  mind  a  desire  to  reproduce  and  arrange  them 
according  to  a  certain  rhythm  and  order  which  may 
be  called  the  beautiful  and  the  good.  The  cultiva- 
tion of  poetry  is  never  more  to  be  desired  than  at 

10  periods  when,  from  an  excess  of  the  selfish  and 
calculating  principle,  the  accumulation  of  the 
materials  of  external  life  exceed  the  quantity  of 
the  power  of  assimilating  them  to  the  internal  laws 
of  human  nature.  The  body  has  then  become  too 

15  unwieldy  for  that  which  animates  it. 

Poetry  is  indeed  something  divine.  It  is  at  once 
the  centre  and  circumference  of  knowledge;  it  is 
that  which  comprehends  all  science,  and  that  to 
which  all  science  must  be  referred.  It  is  at  the 

20  same  time  the  root  and  blossom  of  all  other  sys- 
tems of  thought ;  it  is  that  from  which  all  spring, 
and  that  which  adorns  all ;  and  that  which,  if 

\  blighted,  denies  the  fruit  and  the  seed,  and  with- 
holds from  the  barren  world  the  nourishment  and 

25  the  succession  of  the  scions  of  the  tree  of  life. 
It  is  the  perfect  and  consummate  surface  and 
bloom  of  all  things  ;  it  is  as  the  odor  and  the  color 
of  the  rose  to  the  texture  of  the  elements  which 
compose  it,  as  the  form  and  splendor  of  unfaded 

3°  beauty  to  the  secrets  of  anatomy  and  corruption. 
What  were  virtue,  love,  patriotism,  friendship  ; 
what  were  the  scenery  of  this  beautiful  universe 
which  we  inhabit ;  what  were  our  consolations  on 


POETRY  NOT  PRODUCED  AT    WILL.  39 

this  side  of  the  grave,  and  what  were  our  aspira- 
tions beyond  it,  —  if  poetry  did  not  ascend  to  bring 
light  and  fire  from  those  eternal  regions  where  the    j 
owl-winged   faculty  of    calculation    dare   not   ever    ' 
soar  ?     Poetry  is  not  like  reasoning,  a  power  to  be  5 
exerted   according   to    the    determination    of    the 
will.     A  man  cannot  say,  "I  will  compose  poetry." 
The  greatest  poet  even  cannot  say  it ;  for  the  mind 
in  creation  is  as  a  fading  coal,  which  some  invisible 
influence,  like  an  inconstant  wind,  awakens  to  tran-  10 
sitory  brightness ;  this  power  arises  from  within, 
like  the  color  of  a  flower  which  fades  and  changes 
as  it  is  developed,  and  the  conscious   portions  of 
our  natures  are  unprophetic  either  of   its  approach 
or  its  departure.     Could  this  influence  be  durable  15 
in  its  original  purity  and  force,  it  is  impossible  to 
predict   the   greatness  of   the  results ;    but    when 
composition    begins,  inspiration  is  already  on  the 
decline,  and  the  most  glorious  poetry  that  has  ever 
been  communicated   to   the  world   is    probably   a 
feeble  shadow  of   the  original  conceptions  of  the 
poet.    I  appeal  to  the  greatest  poets  of  the  present 
day  whether  it  is  not  an  error  to  assert  that  the 
finest  passages  of  poetry  are  produced  by  labor  and 
study.     The  toil  .and  the  delay  recommended  by  25 
critics  can  be  justly  interpreted  to  mean  no  more 
than  a  careful  observation  of  the  inspired  moments, 
and  an  artificial  connection  of  the  spaces  between 
their  suggestions  by  the  intertexture  of   conven- 
tional expressions  —  a  necessity  only  imposed  by  30 
the  limitedness  of  the  poetical  faculty  itself ;  for 
Milton  conceived  the  Paradise   Lost  as  a  whole 
before  he  executed  it  in  portions.     We  have  his 


40  VERBAL  MOSAIC  NOT  POETRY. 

own  authority  also  for  the  muse  having  "  dictated  " 
to  him  the  "unpremeditated  song."  And  let  this 
be  an  answer  to  those  who  would  allege  the  fifty-six 
various  readings  of  the  first  line  of  the  Orlando 
5  Furioso.  Compositions  so  produced  are  to  poetry 
what  mosaic  is  to  painting.  The  instinct  and  in- 
tuition of  the  poetical  faculty  is  still  more  observ- 
able in  the  plastic  and  pictorial  arts  :  a  great  statue 
or  picture  grows  under  the  power  of  the  artist  as  a 

10  child  in  the  mother's  womb ;  and  the  very  mind 
which  directs  the  hands  in  formation,  is  incapable 
of  accounting  to  itself  for  the  origin,  the  grada- 
tions, or  the  media  of  the  process. 

Poetry  is  the  record  of   the  best  and  happiest 

15  moments  of  the  happiest  and  best  minds.  We  are 
aware  of  evanescent  visitations  of  thought  and 
feeling,  sometimes  associated  with  place  or  person, 
sometimes  regarding  our  own  mind  alone,  and 
always  arising  unforeseen  and  departing  unbidden, 

20  but  elevating  and  delightful  beyond  all  expression  ; 
so  that  even  in  the  desire  and  the  regret  they  leave, 
there  cannot  but  be  pleasure,  participating  as  it 
does  in  the  nature  of  its  object.  It  is  as  it  were 
the  interpenetration  of  a  diviner  nature  through  our 

25  own  ;  but  its  footsteps  are  like,  those  of  a  wind 
over  the  sea,  which  the  morning  calm  erases,  and 
whose  traces  remain  only,  as  on  the  wrinkled  sand 
which  paves  it.  These  and  corresponding  conditions 
of  being  are  experienced  principally  by  those  of 

30  the  most  delicate  sensibility  and  the  most  enlarged 
imagination ;  and  the  state  of  mind  produced  by 
them  is  at  war  with  every  base  desire.  The  en- 
thusiasm of  virtue,  love,  patriotism,  and  friendship 


POETRY   TRANSMUTES  EVIL    TO    GOOD.  41 

is  essentially  linked  with  such  emotions ;  and 
whilst  they  last,  self  appears  as  what  it  is,  an  atom 
to  a  universe.  Poets  are  not  only  subject  to  these 
experiences  as  spirits  of  the  most  refined  organiza- 
tion, but  they  can  color  all  that  they  combine  with  5 
the  evanescent  hues  of  this  ethereal  world ;  a 
word,  a  trait  in  the  representation  of  a  scene  or  a 
passion  will  touch  the  enchanted  chord,  and  rean- 
imate, in  those  who  have  ever  experienced  these 
emotions,  the  sleeping,  the  cold,  the  buried  image  10 
of  the  past.  Poetry  thus  makes  immortal  all  that 
is  best  and  most  beautiful  in  the  world ;  it  arrests 
the  vanishing  apparitions  which  haunt  the  inter- 
lunations  of  life,  and  veiling  them  or  in  language 
or  in  form,  sends  them  forth  among  mankind,  bear-  15 
ing  sweet  news  of  kindred  joy  to  those  with  whom 
their  sisters  abide  —  abide,  because  there  is  no  por- 
tal of  expression  from  the  caverns  of  the  spirit 
which  they  inhabit  into  the  universe  of  things. 
Poetry  redeems  from  decay  the  visitations  of  the  20 
divinity  in  man. 

Poetry  turns  all  things  to  loveliness  ;  it  exalts  the 
beauty  of  that  which  is  most  beautiful,  and  it  adds 
beauty  to  that  which  is  most  deformed  ;  it  marries 
exultation  and  horror,  grief  and  pleasure,  eternity  25 
and  change  ;  it  subdues  to  union  under  its  light 
yoke  all  irreconcilable  things.  It  transmutes  all 
that  it  touches,  and  every  form  moving  within  the 
radiance  of  its  presence  is  changed  by  wondrous 
sympathy  to  an  incarnation  of  the  spirit  which  it  30 
breathes  ;  its  secret  alchemy  turns  to  potable  gold 
the  poisonous  waters  which  flow  from  death 
through  life ;  it  strips  the  veil  of  familiarity  from 


42  CREATES    THE    UNIVERSE  ANEW. 

the  world,  and  lays  bare  the  naked  and  sleeping 
beauty  which  is  the  spirit  of  its  forms. 

All  things  exist  as  they  are  perceived  :  at  least 
in  relation  to  the  percipient. 

5  The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 

Can  make  a  Heaven  of  Hell,  a  Hell  of  Heaven. 

But  poetry  defeats  the  curse  which  binds  us  to  be 
subjected  to  the  accident  of  surrounding  impres- 
sions. And  whether  it  spreads  its  own  figured 

10  curtain,  or  withdraws  life's  dark  veil  from  before 
the  scene  of  things,  it  equally  creates  for  us  a 
being  within  our  being.  It  makes  us  the  inhab- 
itant of  a  world  to  which  the  familiar  world  is  a 
chaos.  It  reproduces  the  common  universe  of 

15  which  we  are  portions  and  percipients,  and  it 
purges  from  our  inward  sight  the  film  of  famil- 
iarity which  obscures  from  us  the  wonder  of  our 
being.  It  compels  us  to  feel  that  which  we  per- 
ceive, and  to  imagine  that  which  we  know.  It 

20  creates  anew  the  universe,  after  it  has  been  anni- 
hilated in  our  minds  by  the  recurrence  of  impres- 
sions blunted  by  reiteration.  It  justifies  the  bold 
and  true  word  of  Tasso :  Non  merita  nome  di 
creatore,  se  non  Iddio  ed  il  Poeta. 

25  A  poet,  as  he  is  the  author  to  others  of  the  high- 
est wisdom,  pleasure,  virtue,  and  glory,  so  he  ought 
personally  to  be  the  happiest,  the  best,  the  wisest, 
and  the  most  illustrious  of  men.  As  to  his  glory, 
let  time  be  challenged  to  declare  whether  the  fame 

30  of  any  other  institutor  of  human  life  be  comparable 
to  that  of  a  poet.  That  he  is  the  wisest,  the  hap- 
piest, and  the  best,  inasmuch  as  he  is  a  poet, 
is  equally  incontrovertible :  the  greatest  poets 


POETS  BEST,  HAPPIEST,  AND    WISEST.  43 

have  been  men  of  the  most  spotless  virtue,  of  the 
most  consummate  prudence,  and,  if  we  would  look 
into  the  interior  of  their  lives,  the  most  fortunate 
of  men  ;  and  the  exceptions,  as  they  regard  those 
who  possessed  the  poetic  faculty  in  a  high  yet  5 
inferior  degree,  will  be  found  on  consideration  to 
confirm  rather  than  destroy  the  rule.  Let  us  for  a 
moment  stoop  to  the  arbitration  of  popular  breath, 
and  usurping  and  uniting  in  our  own  persons  the 
incompatible  characters  of  accuser,  witness,  judge,  10 
and  executioner,  let  us  decide  without  trial,  testi- 
mony, or  form,  that  certain  motives  of  those  who 
are  "there  sitting  where  we  dare  not  soar,"  are 
reprehensible.  Let  us  assume  that  Homer  was  a 
drunkard,  that  Virgil  was  a  flatterer,  that  Horace  15 
was  a  coward,  that  Tasso  was  a  madman,  that  Lord 
Bacon  was  a  peculator,  that  Raphael  was  a  liber- 
tine, that  Spenser  was  a  poet  laureate.  It  is  incon- 
sistent with  this  division  of  our  subject  to  cite 
living  poets,  but  posterity  has  done  ample  justice  2o 
to  the  great  names  now  referred  to.  Their  errors 
have  been  weighed  and  found  to  have  been  dust 
in  the  balance ;  if  their  sins  were  as  scarlet, 
they  are  now  white  as  snow;  they  have  been 
washed  in  the  blood  of  the  mediator  and  redeemer,  25 
Time.  Observe  in  what  a  ludicrous  chaos  the  im- 
putations of  real  or  fictitious  crime  have  been  con- 
fused in  the  contemporary  calumnies  against  poetry 
and  poets  ;  consider  how  little  is  as  it  appears  — 
or  appears  as  it  is ;  look  to  your  own  motives,  and  30 
judge  not,  lest  ye  be  judged. 

Poetry,  as  has  been  said,  differs  in  this  respect 
from  logic,  that  it  is  not  subject  to  the  control  of  the 


44  FRAILTY  OF  POETS  AS  MEN. 

active  powers  of  the  mind,  and  that  its  birth  and 
recurrence  have  no  necessary  connection  with  the 
consciousness  or  will.  It  is  presumptuous  to  deter- 
mine that  these  are  the  necessary  conditions  of  all 

5  mental  causation,  when  mental  effects  are  expe- 
rienced insusceptible  of  being  referred  to  them. 
The  frequent  recurrence  of  the  poetical  power,  it 
is  obvious  to  suppose,  may  produce  in  the  mind  a 
habit  of  order  and  harmony  correlative  with  its 

10  own  nature  and  with  its  effects  upon  other  minds. 
But  in  the  intervals  of  inspiration  —  and  they  may 
be  frequent  without  being  durable  —  a  poet  becomes 
a  man,  and  is  abandoned  to  the  sudden  reflux  of 
the  influences  under  which  others  habitually  live. 

15  But  as  he  is  more  delicately  organized  than  other 
men,  and  sensible  to  pain  and  pleasure,  both  his 
own  and  that  of  others,  in  a  degree  unknown  to 
them,  he  will  avoid  the  one  and  pursue  the  other 
with  an  ardor  proportioned  to  this  difference.  And 

20  he  renders  himself  obnoxious  to  calumny  when  he 

neglects  to  observe  the  circumstances  under  which 

these  objects  of  universal  pursuit  and  flight  have 

disguised  themselves  in  one  another's  garments. 

But  there   is    nothing   necessarily  evil    in    this 

25  error,  and  thus  cruelty,  envy,  revenge,  avarice,  and 
the  passions  purely  evil,  have  never  formed  any  por- 
tion of  the  popular  imputations  on  the  lives  of  poets. 
I  have  thought  it  most  favorable  to  the  cause  of 
truth  to  set  down  these  remarks  according  to  the 

30  order  in  which  they  were  suggested  to  my  mind, 
by  a  consideration  of  the  subject  itself,  instead  of 
observing  the  formality  of  a  polemical  reply  ;  but  if 
the  view  which  they  contain  be  just,  they  will  be 


PRETENDERS    TO  POETRY.  45 

found  to  involve  a  refutation  of  the  arguers  against 
poetry,  so  far  at  least  as  regards  the  first  division 
of  the  subject.  I  can  readily  conjecture  what 
should  have  moved  the  gall  of  some  learned  and 
intelligent  writers  who  quarrel  with  certain  versi-  s 
fiers  ;  I,  like  them,  confess  myself  unwilling  to  be 
stunned  by  the  Theseids  of  the  hoarse  Codri  of 
the  day.  Bavius  and  Maevius  undoubtedly  are,  as 
they  ever  were,  insufferable  persons.  But  it  be- 
longs to  a  philosophical  critic  to  distinguish  rather  10 
than  confound. 

The  first  part  of   these  remarks  has  related  to 
poetry  in  its  elements  and  principles  ;   and  it  has 
been  shown,  as  well  as  the  narrow  limits  assigned 
them  would  permit,  that  what  is  called  poetry  in  15 
a  restricted  sense,  has  a  common  source  with  all 
other  forms  of  order  and  of  beauty  according  to 
which  the  materials  of  human  life  are  susceptible 
of  being  arranged,  and  which  is  poetry  in  a  uni-      / 
versal  sense.  2o 

The  second  part  will  have  for  its  object  an  appli- 
cation of  these  principles  to  the  present  state  of 
the  cultivation  of  poetry,  and  a  defense  of  the 
attempt  to  idealize  the  modern  forms  of  manners 
and  opinions,  and  compel  them  into  a  subordination  25 
to  the  imaginative  and  creative  faculty.  For  the 
literature  of  England,  an  energetic  development  of 
which  has  ever  preceded  or  accompanied  a  great 
and  free  development  of  the  national  will,  has 
arisen  as  it  were  from  a  new  birth.  In  spite  of  the  30 
low-thoughted  envy  which  would  undervalue  con- 
temporary merit,  our  own  will  be  a  memorable  age 
in  intellectual  achievements,  and  we  live  among 


46      POETS  UNCONSCIOUS  MEDIA   OF  INSPIRATION. 

such  philosophers  and  poets  as  surpass  beyond 
comparison  any  who  have  appeared  since  the  last 
national  struggle  for  civil  and  religious  liberty. 
The  most  unfailing  herald,  companion,  and  follower 
5  of  the  awakening  of  a  great  people  to  work  a  ben- 
eficial change  in  opinion  or  institution,  is  poetry. 
At  such  periods  there  is  an  accumulation  of  the 
power  of  communicating  and  receiving  intense  and 
impassioned  conceptions  respecting  man  and  na- 

10  ture.  The  persons  in  whom  this  power  resides 
may  often,  as  far  as  regards  many  portions  of  their 
nature,  have  little  apparent  correspondence  with 
that  spirit  of  good  of  which  they  are  the  ministers. 
But  even  whilst  they  deny  and  abjure,  they  are  yet 

15  compelled  to  serve  the  power  which  is  seated  on 

the  throne  of  their  own  soul.     It  is  impossible  to 

r      read    the    compositions    of    the    most    celebrated 

writers  of  the  present  day  without  being  startled 

with   the    electric    life  which    burns    within    their 

20  words.  They  measure  the  circumference  and  sound 
the  depths  of  human  nature  with  a  comprehensive 
and  all-penetrating  spirit,  and  they  are  themselves 
perhaps  the  most  sincerely  astonished  at  its  mani- 
festations ;  for  it  is  less  their  spirit  than  the  spirit 

25  of  the  age.  Poets  are  the  hierophants  of  an  unap- 
prehended  inspiration  ;  the  mirrors  of  the  gigantic 
shadows  which  futurity  casts  upon  the  present; 
the  words  which  express  what  they  understand 
not  ;  the  trumpets  which  sing  to  battle  and  feel 

30  not  what  they  inspire ;  the  influence  which  is 
moved  not,  but  moves.  Poets  are  the  unacknowl- 
edged legislators  of  the  world. 


THE   FOUR   AGES   OF   POETRY. 

BY  THOMAS  LOVE  PEACOCK. 

Qui  inter  haec  nutriuntur  non  magis  sapere  possunt,  quam  bene  olere  qui  in 
culina  habitant.  —  PETRONIUS. 

POETRY,  like  the  world,  may  be  said  to  have  four  ages,  but 
in  a  different  order :  the  first  age  of  poetry  being  the  age  of 
iron  ;  the  second  of  gold ;  the  third  of  silver ;  and  the  fourth 
of  brass. 

The  first,  or  iron  age  of  poetry,  is  that  in  which  rude  bards  s 
celebrate  in  rough  numbers  the  exploits  of  ruder  chiefs,  in 
days  when  every  man  is  a  warrior,  and  when  the  great  practi- 
cal maxim  of  every  form  of  society,  "to  keep  what  we  have 
and  to  catch  what  we  can,"  is  not  yet  disguised  under  names 
of  justice  and  forms  of  law,  but  is  the  naked  motto  of  the  10 
naked  sword,  which  is  the  only  judge  and  jury  in  every  ques- 
tion of  meum  and  tuum  [mine  and  thine].     In  these  days, 
the  only  three  trades  flourishing  (besides  that  of  priest,  which 
flourishes  always)  are  those  of  king,  thief,  and  beggar ;  the 
beggar  being,  for  the  most  part,  a  king  deject,  and  the  thief  15 
a  king  expectant.     The  first  question  asked  of  a  stranger  is, 
whether  he  is  a  beggar  or  a  thief;  1  the  stranger,  in  reply, 
usually  assumes  the  first,  and  awaits  a  convenient  opportunity 
to  prove  his  claim  to  the  second  appellation. 

The  natural  desire  of  every  man  to  engross  to  himself  as  20 
much  power  and  property  as  he  can  acquire  by  any  of  the 
means  which  might  makes  right,  is  accompanied  by  the  no 
less  natural  desire  of  making  known  to  as  many  people  as 
possible  the  extent  to  which  he  has  been  a  winner  in  this 
universal  game.  The  successful  warrior  becomes  a  chief;  the  25 

1  See  the  Odyssey,  passim,  and  Thucydides.I.  5.    [Peacock's  Note.] 


48  THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY. 

successful  chief  becomes  a  king ;  his  next  want  is  an  organ 
to  disseminate  the  fame  of  his  achievements  and  the  extent 
of  his  possessions,  and  this  organ  he  finds  in  a  bard,  who  is 
always  ready  to  celebrate  the  strength  of  his  arm,  being  first 

5  duly  inspired  by  that  of  his  liquor.  This  is  the  origin  of 
poetry,  which,  like  all  other  trades,  takes  its  rise  in  the  de- 
mand for  the  commodity,  and  flourishes  in  proportion  to  the 
extent  of  the  market. 

Poetry  is  thus  in  its  origin  panegyrical.     The  first  rude 

10  songs  of  all  nations  appear  to  be  a  sort  of  brief  historical 
notices,  in  a  strain  of  tumid  hyperbole,  of  the  exploits  and 
possessions  of  a  few  pre-eminent  individuals.  They  tell  us 
how  many  battles  such  an  one  has  fought,  how  many  helmets 
he  has  cleft,  how  many  breastplates  he  has  pierced,  how  many 

15  widows  he  has  made,  how  much  land  he  has  appropriated, 
how  many  houses  he  has  demolished  for  other  people,  what 
a  large  one  he  has  built  for  himself,  how  much  gold  he  has 
stowed  away  in  it,  and  how  liberally  and  plentifully  he  pays, 
feeds,  and  intoxicates  the  divine  and  immortal  bards,  the 

20  sons  of  Jupiter,  but  for  whose  everlasting  songs  the  names  of 
heroes  would  perish. 

This  is  the  first  stage  of  poetry  before  the  invention  of 
written  letters.  The  numerical  modulation  is  at  once  useful 
as  a  help  to  memory,  and  pleasant  to  the  ears  of  uncultured 

25  men,  who  are  easily  caught  by  sound  ;  and,  from  the  exceeding 
flexibility  of  the  yet  unformed  language,  the  poet  does  no 
violence  to  his  ideas  in  subjecting  them  to  the  fetters  of 
number.  The  savage,  indeed,  lisps  in  numbers,  and  all  rude 
and  uncivilized  people  express  themselves  in  the  manner 

3°  which  we  call  poetical. 

The  scenery  by  which  he  is  surrounded,  and  the  supersti- 
tions which  are  the  creed  of  his  age,  form  the  poet's  mind. 
Rocks,  mountains,  seas,  unsubdued  forests,  unnavigable 
rivers,  surround  him  with  forms  of  power  and  mystery,  which 

35  ignorance  and  fear  have  peopled  with  spirits,  under  multifari- 
ous names  of  gods,  goddesses,  nymphs,  genii,  and  daemons. 
Of  all  these  personages  marvelous  tales  are  in  existence  :  the 
nymphs  are  not  indifferent  to  handsome  young  men,  and  the 
gentlemen-genii  are  much  troubled  and  very  troublesome 


THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY.  49 

with  a  propensity  to  be  rude  to  pretty  maidens ;  the  bard, 
therefore,  finds  no  difficulty  in  tracing  the  genealogy  of  his 
chief  to  any  of  the  deities  in  his  neighborhood  with  whom  the 
said  chief  may  be  desirous  of  claiming  relationship. 

In  this  pursuit,  as  in  all  others,  some,  of  course,  will  attain  s 
a  very  marked  pre-eminence  ;  and  these  will  be  held  in  high 
honor,  like  Demodocus  in  the  Odyssey,  and  will  be  conse- 
quently inflated  with  boundless  vanity,  like  Thamyris  in  the 
Iliad.     Poets  are  as  yet  the  only  historians  and  chroniclers 
of  their  time,  and  the  sole  depositories  of  all  the  knowledge  i° 
of  their  age ;    and  though  this  knowledge  is  rather  a  crude 
congeries  of  traditional  fantasies  than  a  collection  of  use- 
ful truths,  yet,  such  as  it  is,  they  have  it  to  themselves.     They 
are   observing  and   thinking,  while  others   are  robbing  and 
fighting ;  and  though  their  object  be  nothing  more  than  to  15 
secure  a  share  of  the  spoil,  yet  they  accomplish  this  end  by 
intellectual,    not   by   physical   power ;    their   success   excites 
emulation  to  the  attainment  of  intellectual   eminence ;   thus 
they  sharpen  their  own  wits  and  awaken  those  of  others,  at 
the  same  time  that  they  gratify  vanity  and  amuse  curiosity.  2° 
A  skilful  display  of  the  little  knowledge  they  have  gains  them 
credit  for  the  possession  of  much  more  which  they  have  not. 
Their  familiarity  with  the  secret  history  of  gods  and  genii 
obtains  for  them,  without  much  difficulty,  the  reputation  of 
inspiration ;  thus   they  are   not   only  historians,  but  theolo-  25 
gians,  moralists,  and  legislators ;  delivering  their  oracles  ex 
cathedra  [from  the  chair  of  authority],  and  being  indeed  often 
themselves  (as  Orpheus  and  Amphion)  regarded  as  portions 
and  emanations  of  divinity ;  building  cities  with  a  song,  and 
leading  brutes  with  a  symphony  —  which  are  only  metaphors  3° 
for  the  faculty  of  leading  multitudes  by  the  nose. 

The  golden  age  of  poetry  finds  its  materials  in  the  age  of 
iron.  This  age  begins  when  poetry  begins  to  be  retrospec- 
tive ;  when  something  like  a  more  extended  system  of  civil 
polity  is  [established ;  when  personal  strength  and  courage  35 
avail  less  to  the  aggrandizing  of  their  possessor,  and  to  the 
making  and  marring  of  kings  and  kingdoms,  and  are  checked 
by  organized  bodies,  social  institutions,  and  hereditary  suc- 
cessions. Men  also  live  more  in  the  light  of  truth  and  within 


50  THE  FOUR  AGES    OF  POETRY. 

the  interchange  of  observation,  and  thus  perceive  that  the 
agency  of  gods  and  genii  is  not  so  frequent  among  them- 
selves as,  to  judge  from  the  songs  and  legends  of  the  past 
time,  it  was  among  their  ancestors.  From  these  two  circum- 

5  stances  —  really  diminished  personal  power,  and  apparently 
diminished  familiarity  with  gods  and  genii  —  they  very  easily 
and  naturally  deduce  two  conclusions:  1st,  That  men  are 
degenerated,  and  2nd,  That  they  are  less  in  favor  with  the 
gods.  The  people  of  the  petty  states  and  colonies,  which 

10  have  now  acquired  stability  and  form,  which  owed  their  origin 
and  first  prosperity  to  the  talents  and  courage  of  a  single 
chief,  magnify  their  founder  through  the  mists  of  distance 
and  tradition,  and  perceive  him  achieving  wonders  with  a 
god  or  goddess  always  at  his  elbow.  They  find  his  name 

is  and  his  exploits  thus  magnified  and  accompanied  in  their 
traditionary  songs,  which  are  their  only  memorials.  All  that 
is  said  of  him  is  in  this  character.  There  is  nothing  to  con- 
tradict it.  The  man  and  his  exploits  and  his  tutelary  deities 
are  mixed  and  blended  in  one  invariable  association.  The 

20  marvelous,  too,  is  very  much  like  a  snowball :  it  grows  as  it 

rolls  downward,  till  the  little  nucleus  of  truth,  which  began 

its  descent  from  the  summit,  is  hidden  in  the  accumulation 

of  superinduced  hyperbole. 

When  tradition,  thus  adorned  and  exaggerated,  has  sur- 

25  rounded  the  founders  of  families  and  states  with  so  much 
adventitious  power  and  magnificence,  there  is  no  praise 
which  a  living  poet  can,  without  fear  of  being  kicked  for 
clumsy  flattery,  address  to  a  living  chief,  that  will  not  still 
leave  the  impression  that  the  latter  is  not  so  great  a  man  as 

3°  his  ancestors.  The  man  must,  in  this  case,  be  praised 
through  his  ancestors.  Their  greatness  must  be  established, 
and  he  must  be  shown  to  be  their  worthy  descendant.  All 
the  people  of  a  state  are  interested  in  the  founder  of  their 
state.  All  states  that  have  harmonized  into  a  common  form 

35  of  society  are  interested  in  their  respective  founders.  AH 
men  are  interested  in  their  ancestors.  All  men  love  to  look 
back  into  the  days  that  are  past.  In  these  circumstances 
traditional  national  poetry  is  reconstructed,  and  brought,  like 
chaos,  into  order  and  form.  The  interest  is  more  universal ; 


THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY.  51 

understanding  is  enlarged  :  passion  still  has  scope  and  play ; 
character  is  still  various  and  strong;  nature  is  still  unsub- 
dued and  existing  in  all  her  beauty  and  magnificence,  and 
men  are  not  yet  excluded  from  her  observation  by  the  mag- 
nitude of  cities,  or  the  daily  confinement  of  civic  life  ;  poetry  s 
is  more  an  art ;  it  requires  greater  skill  in  numbers,  greater 
command  of  language,  more  extensive  and  various  knowledge, 
and  greater  comprehensiveness  of  mind.  It  still  exists  with- 
out rivals  in  any  other  department  of  literature ;  and  even 
the  arts,  painting  and  sculpture  certainly,  and  music  probably,  '° 
are  comparatively  rude  and  imperfect.  The  whole  field  of 
intellect  is  its  own.  It  has  no  rivals  in  history,  nor  in  phil- 
osophy, nor  in  science.  It  is  cultivated  by  the  greatest  intel- 
lects of  the  age,  and  listened  to  by  all  the  rest.  This  is  the 
age  of  Homer,  the  golden  age  of  poetry.  Poetry  has  now  is 
attained  its  perfection  ;  it  has  attained  the  point  which  it  can- 
not pass  ;  genius  therefore  seeks  new  forms  for  the  treatment 
of  the  same  subjects ;  hence  the  lyric  poetry  of  Pindar  and 
Alcaeus,  and  the  tragic  poetry  of  .^schylus  and  Sophocles. 
The  favor  of  kings,  the  honor  of  the  Olympic  crown,  the  20 
applause  of  present  multitudes,  all  that  can  feed  vanity  and 
stimulate  rivalry,  await  the  successful  cultivator  of  this  art, 
till  its  forms  become  exhausted,  and  new  rivals  arise  around 
it  in  new  fields  of  literature,  which  gradually  acquire  more 
influence  as,  with  the  progress  of  reason  and  civilization,  25 
facts  become  more  interesting  than  fiction ;  indeed,  the 
maturity  of  poetry  may  be  considered  the  infancy  of  history. 
The  transition  from  Homer  to  Herodotus  is  scarcely  more 
remarkable  than  that  from  Herodotus  to  Thucydides,  in  the 
gradual  dereliction  of  fabulous  incident  and  ornamented  Ian-  3° 
guage.  Herodotus  is  as  much  a  poet  in  relation  to  Thucy- 
dides as  Homer  is  in  relation  to  Herodotus.  The  history  of 
Herodotus  is  half  a  poem ;  it  was  written  while  the  whole 
field  of  literature  yet  belonged  to  the  Muses,  and  the  nine 
books  of  which  it  was  composed  were  therefore  of  right,  as  35 
well  as  of  courtesy,  superinscribed  with  their  nine  names. 

Speculations,  too,  and  disputes,  on  the  nature  of  man  and 
of  mind,  on  moral  duties  and  on  good  and  evil,  on  the  ani- 
mate and  inanimate  components  of  the  visible  world,  begin  to 


52  THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY. 

share  attention  with  the  eggs  of  Leda  and  the  horns  of  lo, 
and  to  draw  off  from  poetry  a  portion  of  its  once  undivided 
audience. 

Then  comes  the  silver  age,  or  the  poetry  of  civilized  life. 
s  This  poetry  is  of  two  kinds,  imitative  and  original.  The 
imitative  consists  in  recasting,  and  giving  an  exquisite  polish 
to,  the  poetry  of  the  age  of  gold ;  of  this  Virgil  is  the  most 
obvious  and  striking  example.  The  original  is  chiefly  comic, 
didactic,  or  satiric,  as  in  Menander,  Aristophanes,  Horace, 

1°  and  Juvenal.  The  poetry  of  this  age  is  characterized  by  an 
exquisite  and  fastidious  selection  of  words,  and  a  labor-d  and 
somewhat  monotonous  harmony  of  expression ;  but  its  mo- 
notony consists  in  this,  that  experience  having  exhausted  all 
the  varieties  of  modulation,  the  civilized  poetry  selects  the 

Js  most  beautiful,  and  prefers  the  repetition  of  these  to  ranging 
through  the  variety  of  all.  But  the  best  expression  being 
that  into  which  the  idea  naturally  falls,  it  requires  the  utmost 
labor  and  care  so  to  reconcile  the  inflexibility  of  civilized 
language  and  the  labored  polish  of  versification  with  the  idea 

20  intended  to  be  expressed,  that  sense  may  not  appear  to  be 
sacrificed  to  sound.    Hence  numerous  efforts  and  rare  success. 
This  state  of  poetry  is,  however,  a  step  towards  its  extinc- 
tion.    Feeling  and  passion  are  best  painted  in,  and  roused 
by,  ornamental  and  figurative  language ;  but  the  reason  and 

25  the  understanding  are  best  addressed  in  the  simplest  and 
most  unvarnished  phrase.  Pure  reason  and  dispassionate 
truth  would  be  perfectly  ridiculous  in  verse,  as  we  may  judge 
by  versifying  one  of  Euclid's  demonstrations.  This  will  be 
found  true  of  all  dispassionate  reasoning  whatever,  and  of 

3°  all  reasoning  that  requires  comprehensive  views  and  enlarged 
combinations.  It  is  only  the  more  tangible  points  of  moral- 
ity, those  which  command  assent  at  once,  those  which  have 
a  mirror  in  every  mind,  and  in  which  the  severity  of  reason 
is  warmed  and  rendered  palatable  by  being  mixed  up  with 

35  feeling  and  imagination,  that  are  applicable  even  to  what 
is  called  moral  poetry;  and  as  the  sciences  of  morals  and 
of  mind  advance  towards  perfection,  as  they  become  more 
enlarged  and  comprehensive  in  their  views,  as  reason  gains 
the  ascendancy  in  them  over  imagination  and  feeling,  poetry 


THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY.  53 

can  no  longer  accompany  them  in  their  progress,  but  drops 
into  the  background,  and  leaves  them  to  advance  alone. 

Thus  the  empire  of  thought  is  withdrawn  from  poetry,  as 
the  empire  of  facts  had  been  before.     In  respect  of  the  latter, 
the  poet  of  the  age  of  iron  celebrates  the  achievements  of  s 
his  contemporaries ;    the  poet  of  the  age  of  gold  celebrates 
the  heroes  of  the  age  of  iron ;  the  poet  of  the  age  of  silver 
recasts  the  poems  of  the  age  of  gold ;  we  may  here  see  how 
very  slight  a  ray  of  historical  truth  is  sufficient  to  dissipate 
all  the  illusions  of  poetry.     We  know  no  more  of  the  men  i° 
than  of  the  gods  of  the  Iliad,  no  more  of  Achilles  than  v/e  do 
of  Thetis,  no  more  of  Hector  and  Andromache  than  we  do  of 
Vulcan  and  Venus  ;  these  belong  altogether  to  poetry ;  history 
has  no  share  in  them ;  but  Virgil  knew  better  than  to  write 
an  epic  about  Caesar ;   he  left  him  to  Livy,  and  traveled  out  »s 
of  the  confines  of  truth  and  history  into  the  regions  of  poetry 
and  fiction. 

Good  sense  and  elegant  learning,  conveyed  in  polished  and 
somewhat  monotonous  verse,  are  the  perfection  of  the  original 
and  imitative  poetry  of  civilized  life.  Its  range  is  limited,  20 
and  when  exhausted,  nothing  remains  but  the  cranibe  repetita 
[stale  repetition]  of  commonplace,  which  at  length  becomes 
thoroughly  wearisome,  even  to  the  most  indefatigable  readers 
of  the  newest  new  nothings. 

It  is  now  evident  that  poetry  must  either  cease  to  be  culti-  25 
vated,  or  strike  into  a  new  path.     The  poets  of  the  age  of 
gold  have  been  imitated  and  repeated  till  no  new  imitation 
will  attract  notice ;  the  limited  range  of  ethical  and  didactic 
poetry  is  exhausted ;  the  associations  of  daily  life  in  an  ad- 
vanced state  of  society  are  of  very  dry,  methodical,  unpoetical  3° 
matters-of-fact ;    but  there  is  always  a  multitude  of  listless 
idlers,  yawning  for  amusement,  and  gaping  for  novelty ;  and 
the  poet  makes   it   his  glory  to  be   foremost  among  their 
purveyors. 

Then  comes  the  age  of  brass,  which,  by  rejecting  the  polish  35 
and  the  learning  of  the  age  of  silver,  and  taking  a  retrograde 
stride  to  the  barbarisms  and  crude  traditions  of  the  age  of 
iron,  professes  to  return  to  nature  and  revive  the  age  of  gold. 
This  is  the  second  childhood  of  poetry.     To  the  comprehen- 


54  THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY. 

sive  energy  of  the  Homeric  Muse,  which,  by  giving  at  once 
the  grand  outline  of  things,  presented  to  the  mind  a  vivid 
picture  in  one  or  two  verses,  inimitable  alike  in  simplicity  and 
magnificence,  is  substituted  a  verbose  and  minutely-detailed 
s  description  of  thoughts,  passions,  actions,  persons,  and 
things,  in  that  loose,  rambling  style  of  verse,  which  any  one 
may  write  stans  pede  in  uno  [standing  on  one  foot],  at  the 
rate  of  two  hundred  lines  in  an  hour.  To  this  age  may  be 
referred  all  the  poets  who  flourished  in  the  decline  of  the 

10  Roman  Empire.  The  best  specimen  of  it,  though  not  the 
most  generally  known,  is  the  Dionysiaca  of  Nonnus,  which 
contains  many  passages  of  exceeding  beauty  in  the  midst  of 
masses  of  amplification  and  repetition. 

The  iron  age  of  classical  poetry  may  be  called  the  bardic ; 

15  the  golden,  the  Homeric :  the  silver,  the  Virgilian ;  and  the 
brass,  the  Nonnic. 

Modern  poetry  has  also  its  four  ages;  but  "it  wears  its 
rue  with  a  difference." 

To  the  age  of  brass  in  the  ancient  world  succeeded  the 

2j  Dark  Ages,  in  which  the  light  of  the  Gospel  began  to  spread 
over  Europe,  and  in  which,  by  a  mysterious  and  inscrutable 
dispensation,  the  darkness  thickened  with  the  progress  of  the 
light.  The  tribes  that  overran  the  Roman  Empire  brought 
back  the  days  ef  barbarism,  but  with  this  difference,  that 

2s  there  were  many  books  in  the  world,  many  places  in  whiten 
they  were  preserved,  and  occasionally  some  one  by  whom 
they  were  read,  who  indeed  (if  he  escaped  being  burned,  pour 
V amour  de  Dieu  [for  the  love  of  God])  generally  lived  an 
object  of  mysterious  fear,  with  the  reputation  of  magician, 

3°  alchemist,  and  astrologer.  The  emerging  of  the  nations  of 
Europe  from  this  superinduced  barbarism,  and  their  settling 
into  new  forms  of  polity,  was  accompanied,  as  the  first  ages 
of  Greece  had  been,  with  a  wild  spirit  of  adventure,  which, 
co-operating  with  new  manners  and  new  superstitions,  raised 

35  up  a  fresh  crop  of  chimeras,  not  less  fruitful,  though  far  less 
beautiful,  than  those  of  Greece.  The  semi-deification  of 
women  by  the  maxims  of  the  age  of  chivalry,  combining  with 
these  new  fables,  produced  the  romance  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
The  founders  of  the  new  line  of  heroes  took  the  place  of  the 


THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY.  55 

demigods  of  Grecian  poetry.  Charlemagne  and  his  Paladins, 
Arthur  and  his  Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  the  heroes  of  the 
iron  age  of  chivalrous  poetry,  were  seen  through  the  same 
magnifying  mist  of  distance,  and  their  exploits  were  celebrated 
with  even  more  extravagant  hyperbole.  These  legends,  com-  s 
bined  with  the  exaggerated  love  that  pervades  the  songs  of 
the  troubadours,  the  reputation  of  magic  that  attached  to 
learned  men,  the  infant  wonders  of  natural  philosophy,  the 
crazy  fanaticism  of  the  Crusades,  the  power  and  privileges  of 
the  great  feudal  chiefs,  and  the  holy  mysteries  of  monks  and  I0 
nuns,  formed  a  state  of  society  in  which  no  two  laymen  could 
meet  without  fighting,  and  in  which  the  three  staple  ingredi- 
ents of  lover,  prize-fighter,  and  fanatic,  that  composed  the 
basis  of  the  character  of  every  true  man,  were  mixed  up  and 
diversified,  in  different  individuals  and  classes,  with  so  many  15 
distinctive  excellences,  and  under  such  an  infinite  motley 
variety  of  costume,  as  gave  the  range  of  a  most  extensive  and 
picturesque  field  to  the  two  great  constituents  of  poetry,  love 
and  battle. 

From  these  ingredients  of  the  iron  age  of  modern  poetry,  20 
dispersed  in  the  rimes  of  minstrels  and  the  songs  of  the  trou- 
badours, arose  the  golden  age,  in  which  the  scattered  materials 
were  harmonized  and  blended  about  the  time  of  the  revival  of 
learning ;  but  with  this  peculiar  difference,  that   Greek  and 
Roman  literature  pervaded  all  the  poetry  of  the  golden  age  of  25 
modern  poetry,  and  hence  resulted  a  heterogeneous  compound 
of  all  ages  and  nations  in  one  picture ;  an  infinite  license, 
which  gave  to  the  poet  the  free  range  of  the  whole  field  of 
imagination  and  memory.   This  was  carried  very  far  by  Ariosto, 
but  farthest  of  all  by  Shakespeare  and  his  contemporaries,  30 
who  used  time  and  locality  merely  because  they  could  not  do 
without  them,  because  every  action  must  have  its  when  and 
where  ;  but  they  made  no  scruple  of  deposing  a  Roman  Em- 
peror by  an  Italian  Count,  and  sending  him  off  in  the  disguise 
of  a   French   pilgrim  to  be  shot  with  a  blunderbuss   by  an  35 
English  archer.     This  makes  the  old  English  drama  very  pic- 
turesque, at  any  rate,  in  the  variety  of  costume,  and  very  diver- 
sified in  action  and  character,  though  it  is  a  picture  of  nothing 
that  ever  was  seen  on  earth  except  a  Venetian  carnival. 


56  THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY. 

The  greatest  of  English  poets,  Milton,  may  be  said  to  stand 
alone  between  the  ages  of  gold  and  silver,  combining  the  ex- 
cellences of  both ;  for  with  all  the  energy,  and  power,  and 
freshness  of  the  first,  he  united  all  the  studied  and  elaborate 
P  magnificence  of  the  second. 

The  silver  age  succeeded,  —  beginning  with  Dryden,  coming 
to  perfection  with  Pope,  and  ending  with  Goldsmith,  Collins, 
and  Gray. 

Cowper  divested  verse  of  its  exquisite  polish  ;  he  thought  in 

10  metre,  but  paid  more  attention  to  his  thoughts  than  his  verse. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  draw  the  boundary  of  prose  and  blank 
verse  between  his  letters  and  his  poetry. 

The  silver  age  was  the  reign  of  authority ;  but  authority 
now  began  to  be  shaken,  not  only  in  poetry  but  in  the  whole 

15  sphere  of  its  dominion.  The  contemporaries  of  Gray  and 
Cowper  were  deep  and  elaborate  thinkers.  The  subtle  scep- 
ticism of  Hume,  the  solemn  irony  of  Gibbon,  the  daring  para- 
doxes of  Rousseau,  and  the  biting  ridicule  of  Voltaire,  directed 
the  energies  of  four  extraordinary  minds  to  shake  every  por- 

20  tion  of  the  reign  of  authority.  Inquiry  was  roused,  the  activity 
of  intellect  was  excited,  and  poetry  came  in  for  its  share  of 
the  general  result.  The  changes  had  been  rung  on  lovely 
maid  and  sylvan  shade,  summer  heat  and  green  retreat,  wav- 
ing trees  and  sighing  breeze,  gentle  swains  and  amorous 

25  pains,  by  versifiers  who  took  them  on  trust  as  meaning  some- 
thing very  soft  and  tender,  without  much  caring  what ;  but 
with  this  general  activity  of  intellect  came  a  necessity  for  even 
poets  to  appear  to  know  something  of  what  they  professed 
to  talk  of.  Thomson  and  Cowper  looked  at  the  trees  and  hills 

30  which  so  many  ingenious  gentlemen  had  rimed  about  so  long 
without  looking  at  them  at  all,  and  the  effect  of  the  operation 
on  poetry  was  like  the  discovery  of  a  new  world.  Painting 
shared  the  influence,  and  the  principles  of  picturesque  beauty 
were  explored  by  adventurous  essayists  with  indefatigable  per- 

35  tinacity.  The  success  which  attended  these  experiments,  and 
the  pleasure  which  resulted  from  them,  had  the  usual  effect  of 
all  new  enthusiasms,  that  of  turning  the  heads  of  a  few  unfor- 
tunate persons,  the  patriarchs  of  the  age  of  brass,  who,  mis- 
taking the  prominent  novelty  for  the  all-important  totality, 


THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY.  57 

seem  to  have  ratiocinated  much  in  the  following  manner : 
"  Poetical  genius  is  the  finest  of  all  things,  and  we  feel  that 
we  have  more  of  it  than  any  one  ever  had.  The  way  to  bring 
it  to  perfection  is  to  cultivate  poetical  impressions  exclusively. 
Poetical  impressions  can  be  received  only  among  natural  5 
scenes,  for  all  that  is  artificial  is  anti-poetical.  Society  is  arti- 
ficial, therefore  we  will  live  out  of  society.  The  mountains  are 
natural,  therefore  we  will  live  in  the  mountains.  There  we 
shall  be  shining  models  of  purity  and  virtue,  passing  the  whole 
day  in  the  innocent  and  amiable  occupation  of  going  up  and  10 
down  hill,  receiving  poetical  impressions,  and  communica- 
ting them  in  immortal  verse  to  admiring  generations."  To 
some  such  perversion  of  intellect  we  owe  that  egregious 
confraternity  of  rimesters,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Lake 
Poets ;  who  certainly  did  receive  and  communicate  to  the  '5 
world  some  of  the  most  extraordinary  poetical  impressions 
that  ever  were  heard  of,  and  ripened  into  models  of  public 
virtue,  too  splendid  to  need  illustration.  They  wrote  verses 
on  a  new  principle ;  saw  rocks  and  rivers  in  a  new  light ;  and 
remaining  studiously  ignorant  of  history,  society,  and  human  2° 
nature,  cultivated  the  fantasy  only  at  the  expense  of  the 
memory  and  the  reason ;  and  contrived,  though  they  had 
retreated  from  the  world  for  the  express  purpose  of  seeing 
nature  as  she  was,  to  see  her  only  as  she  was  not,  converting 
the  land  they  lived  in  into  a  sort  of  fairyland,  which  they  2S 
peopled  with  mysticisms  and  chimeras.  This  gave  what  is 
called  a  new  tone  to  poetry,  and  conjured  up  a  herd  of  desper- 
ate imitators,  who  have  brought  the  age  of  brass  prematurely 
to  its  dotage. 

The  descriptive  poetry  of  the  present  day  has  been  called  3° 
by  its  cultivators  a  return  to  nature.     Nothing  is  more  im- 
pertinent than  this  pretension.     Poetry  cannot  travel  out  of 
the  regions  of  its  birth,  the  uncultivated  lands  of  semi-civilized 
men.     Mr.  Wordsworth,  the  great  leader  of  the  returners  to 
nature,  cannot  describe  a  scene  under  his  own  eyes  without  35 
putting  into  it  the  shadow  of  a  Danish   boy  or  the  living 
ghost  of  Lucy  Gray,  or  some  similar  fantastical  parturition  of 
the  moods  of  his  own  mind. 

In  the  origin  and  perfection  of  poetry,  all  the  associations 


58  THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY. 

of  life  were  composed  of  poetical  materials.  With  us  it  is 
decidedly  the  reverse.  We  know,  too,  that  there  are  no 
Dryads  in  Hyde  Park,  nor  Naiads  in  the  Regent's  Canal.  But 
barbaric  manners  and  supernatural  interventions  are  essential 
5  to  poetry.  Either  in  the  scene,  or  in  the  time,  or  in  both,  it 
must  be  remote  from  our  ordinary  perceptions.  While  the 
historian  and  the  philosopher  are  advancing  in,  and  acceler- 
ating, the  progress  of  knowledge,  the  poet  is  wallowing  in  the 
rubbish  of  departed  ignorance,  and  raking  up  the  ashes  of 

10  dead  savages  to  find  gewgaws  and  rattles  for  the  grown 
babies  of  the  age.  Mr.  Scott  digs  up  the  poachers  and  cattle- 
stealers  of  the  ancient  border.  Lord  Byron  cruises  for  thieves 
and  pirates  on  the  shores  of  the  Morea  and  among  the  Greek 
islands.  Mr.  Southey  wades  through  ponderous  volumes  of 

15  travels  and  old  chronicles,  from  which  he  carefully  selects  all 
that  is  false,  useless,  and  absurd,  as  being  essentially  poetical ; 
and  when  he  has  a  commonplace  book  full  of  monstrosities, 
strings  them  into  an  epic.  Mr.  Wordsworth  picks  up  village 
legends  from  old  women  and  sextons  ;  and  Mr.  Coleridge,  to 

20  the  valuable  information  acquired  from  similar  sources,  super- 
adds  the  dreams  of  crazy  theologians  and  the  mysticisms  of 
German  metaphysics,  and  favors  the  world  with  visions  in 
verse,  in  which  the  quadruple  elements  of  sexton,  old  woman, 
Jeremy  Taylor,  and  Immanuel  Kant  are  harmonized  into  a 

25  delicious  poetical  compound.  Mr.  Moore  presents  us  with 
a  Persian,  and  Mr.  Campbell  with  a  Pennsylvanian  tale,  both 
formed  on  the  same  principle  as  Mr.  Southey's  epics,  by 
extracting  from  a  perfunctory  and  desultory  perusal  of  a 
collection  of  voyages  and  travels,  all  that  useful  investigation 

3°  would  not  seek  for  and  that  common  sense  would  reject. 

These  disjointed  relics  of  tradition  and  fragments  of  second- 
hand observation,  being  woven  into  a  tissue  of  verse,  con- 
structed on  what  Mr.  Coleridge  calls  a  new  principle  (that  is, 
no  principle  at  all),  compose  a  modern-antique  compound  of 

35  frippery  and  barbarism,  in  which  the  puling  sentimentality 
of  the  present  time  is  grafted  on  the  misrepresented  rugged- 
ness  of  the  past  into  a  heterogeneous  congeries  of  unamalga- 
mating  manners,  sufficient  to  impose  on  the  common  readers 
of  poetry,  over  whose  understandings  the  poet  of  this  class 


THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY.  59 

possesses  that  commanding  advantage  which,  in  all  circum- 
stances and  conditions  of  life,  a  man  who  knows  something, 
however  little,  always  possesses  over  one  who  knows  nothing. 
A  poet  in  our  times  is  a  semi-barbarian  in  a  civilized  com- 
munity. He  lives  in  the  days  that  are  past.  His  ideas,  5 
thoughts,  feelings,  associations,  are  all  with  barbarous  man- 
ners, obsolete  customs,  and  exploded  superstitions.  The 
march  of  his  intellect  is  like  that  of  a  crab,  backward.  The 
brighter  the  light  diffused  around  him  by  the  progress  of 
reason,  the  thicker  is  the  darkness  of  antiquated  barbarism  '° 
in  which  he  buries  himself  like  a  mole,  to  throw  up  the  barren 
hillocks  of  his  Cimmerian  labors.  The  philosophic  mental 
tranquillity  which  looks  round  with  an  equal  eye  on  all  external 
things,  collects  a  store  of  ideas,  discriminates  their  relative 
value,  assigns  to  all  their  proper  place,  and  from  the  materials  15 
of  useful  knowledge  thus  collected,  appreciated,  and  arranged, 
forms  new  combinations  that  impress  the  stamp  of  their 
power  and  utility  on  the  real  business  of  life,  is  diametrically 
the  reverse  of  that  frame  of  mind  which  poetry  inspires,  or 
from  which  poetry  can  emanate.  The  highest  inspirations  2° 
of  poetry  are  resolvable  into  three  ingredients :  the  rant  of 
unregulated  passion,  the  whining  of  exaggerated  feeling,  and 
the  cant  of  factitious  sentiment ;  and  can  therefore  serve  only 
to  ripen  a  splendid  lunatic  like  Alexander,  a  puling  driveler 
like  Werter,  or  a  morbid  dreamer  like  Wordsworth.  It  can  2s 
never  make  a  philosopher,  nor  a  statesman,  nor  in  any  class 
of  life  a  useful  or  rational  man.  It  cannot  claim  the  slightest 
share  in  any  one  of  the  comforts  and  utilities  of  life,  of 
which  we  have  witnessed  so  many  and  so  rapid  advances. 
But  though  not  useful,  it  may  be  said  it  is  highly  ornamental,  3° 
and  deserves  to  be  cultivated  for  the  pleasure  it  yields. 
Even  if  this  be  granted,  it  does  not  follow  that  a  writer  of 
poetry  in  the  present  state  of  society  is  not  a  waster  of  his 
own  time,  and  a  robber  of  that  of  others.  Poetry  is  not  one 
of  those  arts  which,  like  painting,  require  repetition  and  35 
multiplication,  in  order  to  be  diffused  among  society.  There 
are  more  good  poems  already  existing  than  are  sufficient  to 
employ  that  portion  of  life  which  any  mere  reader  and  recipi- 
ent of  poetical  impressions  should  devote  to  them,  and  these, 


60  THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY. 

having  been  produced  in  poetical  times,  are  far  superior  in  all 
the  characteristics  of  poetry  to  the  artificial  reconstructions  of 
a  few  morbid  ascetics  in  unpoetical  times.  To  read  the  pro- 
miscuous rubbish  of  the  present  time,  to  the  exclusion  of  the 

5  select  treasures  of  the  past,  is  to  substitute  the  worse  for  the 
better  variety  of  the  same  mode  of  enjoyment. 

But  in  whatever  degree  poetry  is  cultivated,  it  must  neces- 
sarily be  to  the  neglect  of  some  branch  of  useful  study ;  and  it 
is  a  lamentable  spectacle  to  see  minds  capable  of  better  things 

10  running  to  seed  in  the  specious  indolence  of  these  empty, 
aimless  mockeries  of  intellectual  exertion.  Poetry  was  the 
mental  rattle  that  awakened  the  attention  of  intellect  in  the 
infancy  of  civil  society ;  but  for  the  maturity  of  mind  to  make 
a  serious  business  of  the  playthings  of  its  childhood,  is  as 

15  absurd  as  for  a  full-grown  man  to  rub  his  gums  with  coral, 

and  cry  to  be  charmed  to  sleep  by  the  jingle  of  silver  bells. 

As  to  that  small  portion  of  our  contemporary  poetry  which 

is  neither  descriptive,  nor  narrative,  nor  dramatic,  and  which, 

for  want  of  a  better  name,  may  be  called  ethical,  the  most 

20  distinguished  portion  of  it,  consisting  merely  of  querulous, 
egotistical  rhapsodies,  to  express  the  writer's  high  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  world  and  everything  in  it,  serves  only  to  con- 
firm what  has  been  said  of  the  semi-barbarous  character  of 
poets,  who  from  singing  dithyrambics  and  "  lo  Triumphe," 

25  while  society  was  savage,  grow  rabid,  and  out  of  their  ele- 
ment, as  it  becomes  polished  and  enlightened. 

Now  when  we  consider  that  it  is  not  to  the  thinking  and 
studious,  and  scientific  and  philosophical  part  of  the  com- 
munity, not  to  those  whose  minds  are  bent  on  the  pursuit 

3°  and  promotion  of  permanently  useful  ends  and  aims,  that 
poets  must  address  their  minstrelsy,  but  to  that  much  larger 
portion  of  the  reading  public  whose  minds  are  not  awakened 
to  the  desire  of  valuable  knowledge,  and  who  are  indifferent 
to  anything  beyond  being  charmed,  moved,  excited,  affected, 

35  and  exalted, — charmed  by  harmony,  moved  by  sentiment, 
excited  by  passion,  affected  by  pathos,  and  exalted  by  sublim- 
ity, —  harmony,  which  is  language  on  the  rack  of  Procrustes  ; 

.  sentiment,  which  is  canting  egotism  in  the  mask  of  refined 
feeling ;  passion,  which  is  the  commotion  of  a  weak  and  selfish 


THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  POETRY.  61 

mind;  pathos,  which  is  the  whining  of  an  unmanly  spirit; 
and  sublimity,  which  is  the  inflation  of  an  empty  head  ;  when 
we  consider  that  the  great  and  permanent  interests  of  human 
society  become  more  and  more  the  mainspring  of  intellectual 
pursuit ;  that,  in  proportion  as  they  become  so,  the  subordi-  5 
nacy  of  the  ornamental  to  the  useful  will  be  more  and  more 
seen  and  acknowledged,  and  that  therefore  the  progress  of  use- 
ful art  and  science,  and  of  moral  and  political  knowledge,  will 
continue  more  and  more  to  withdraw  attention  from  frivolous 
and  unconducive  to  solid  and  conducive  studies ;  that  there-  10 
fore  the  poetical  audience  will  not  only  continually  diminish 
in  the  proportion  of  its  number  to  that  of  the  rest  of  the  read- 
ing public,  but  will  also  sink  lower  and  lower  in  the  compari- 
son of  intellectual  acquirement;  when  we  consider  that  the 
poet  must  still  please  his  audience,  and  must  therefore  con-  15 
tinue  to  sink  to  their  level,  while  the  rest  of  the  community 
is  rising  above  it ;  —  we  may  easily  conceive  that  the  day  is 
not  distant  when  the  degraded  state  of  every  species  of  poetry 
will  be  as  generally  recognized  as  that  of  dramatic  poetry  has 
long  been  ;  and  this  not  from  any  decrease  either  of  intel-  20 
lectual  power  or  intellectual  acquisition,  but  because  intel- 
lectual power  and  intellectual  acquisition  have  turned  them- 
selves into  other  and  better  channels,  and  have  abandoned 
the  cultivation  and  the  fate  of  poetry  to  the  degenerate  fry  of 
modern  rimesters,  and  their  Olympic  judges,  the  magazine  25 
critics,  who  continue  to  debate  and  promulgate  oracles  about 
poetry  as  if  it  were  still  what  it  was  in  the  Homeric  age,  the 
all-in-all  of  intellectual  progression,  and  as  if  there  were  no 
such  things  in  existence  as  mathematicians,  astronomers, 
chemists,  moralists,  metaphysicians,  historians,  politicians,  30 
and  political  economists,  who  have  built  into  the  upper  air  of 
intelligence  a  pyramid,  from  the  summit  of  which  they  see 
the  modern  Parnassus  far  beneath  them,  and,  knowing  how 
small  a  place  it  occupies  in  the  comprehensiveness  of  their 
prospect,  smile  at  the  little  ambition  and  the  circumscribed  35 
perceptions  with  which  the  drivelers  and  mountebanks  upon 
it  are  contending  for  the  poetical  palm  and  the  critical  chair. 


NOTES. 


1  1.  After  the  title  I  have  omitted  the  sub-title,  "  Part  I."  See 
notes  on  45  6  and  45  21. 

1  10.    The  one  is  the  TO  iroitiv.     Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  6  30. 

1  13.  The  TO  \oyi£eti>.  Shelley  inadvertently  substitutes  an  active 
for  the  proper  deponent  form. 

1  24.    Shadow  to  the  substance.     Cf.  24  14. 

3  13-15.    The  future  .  .  .  the  seed.    Cf.  6  G-8 :  "  He  beholds  the  future 
in  the  present,  and  his  thoughts  are  the  germs  of  the  flower  and  fruit 
of  latest  time."     And  see  38  19-25. 

4  28.    Unapprehended.     Cf.  11  21,  13  26,  46  25. 

5  4-6.    The  same  footsteps,  etc.     De  Augment.  Scient.  cap.  I,  lib.  iii. 
(Shelley's  note).     Cf.  Adv.  Learning!.  5.  3. 

5  20-29.   But  poets   .    .    .    religion.     Cf.    Shelley,   Discourse   on   the 
Manners  of  the  Ancients  :  "  For  all  the  inventive  arts  maintain,  as  it 
were,  a  sympathetic  connection  between  each  other,  being  no  more 
than  various  expressions  of  one  internal  power,  modified  by  different 
circumstances,  either  of  an  individual  or  of  society." 

6  1.    Prophets.     Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  5  12-16. 

6  14—15.  A  poet  participates  in  the  eternal,  the  infinite,  and  the  one. 
Cf.  the  discussion  in  my  edition  of  Sidney's  Defense  of  Poesy,  Introduc- 
tion, p.  xxix  ff. 

6  31-7  2.   But  poetry,   etc.      Cf.    Plato,    Symposium   205   (Shelley's 
trans.)  :  "  .  .  .  Poetry,  which  is  a  general  name  signifying  every  cause 
whereby  anything  proceeds  from  that  which  is  not  into  that  which  is; 
so  that  the  exercise  of  every  inventive  art  is  poetry,  and  all  such  artists 
poets.    Yet  they  are  not  called  poets,  but  distinguished  by  other  names; 
and  one  portion  or  species  of  poetry,  that  which  has  relation  to  music 
and  rhythm,  is  divided  from  all  others,  and  known  by  the  name  belong- 
ing to  all." 

7  14.   Mirror.     Shelley  is  partial  to  this  figure.     Cf.  10  30-32,  18  1C, 
19  6  ff.,  24  11,  46  2C. 

8 13-18.  Hence  the  language,  etc.  Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  5  33-34, 
11  25-31,  33  19-24. 


64  NOTES. 

8  19.  Hence  the  beauty  of  translation.  But  cf.  Goethe,  Dichtung 
und  Wahrheit,  Th.  3,  B.  n,  quoted  in  Hayward,  Statesmen  and 
Writers  2.  307 :  "  I  honor  both  rhythm  and  rime,  by  which  poetry 
first  becomes  poetry;  but  the  properly  deep  and  radically  operative  — 
the  truly  developing  and  quickening,  is  that  which  remains  of  the  poet 
when  he  is  translated  into  prose.  The  inward  substance  then  remains 
in  its  purity  and  fulness;  which,  when  it  is  absent,  a  dazzling  exterior 
often  deludes  with  the  semblance  of,  and,  when  it  is  present,  conceals." 

8  30  ff.    Yet  it  is,  etc.     Cf.  Bagehot,  Literary  Studies  2.  351:  "  But 
the  exact  line  which  separates  grave  novels  in  verse,  like  Aylmer's 
Field  or  Enoch  Arden,  from  grave  novels  not  in  verse,  like  Silas  Mar- 
ner  or  Adam  Bede,  we  own  we  cannot  draw  with  any  confidence.    Nor, 
perhaps,  is  it  very  important;  whether  a  narrative  is  thrown  into  verse 
or  not  certainly  depends  in  part  on  the  taste  of  the  age,  and  in  part  on 
its  mechanical  helps.     Verse  is  the  only  mechanical  help  to  the  mem- 
ory in  rude  times,  and  there  is  little  writing  till  a  cheap  something  is 
found  to  write  upon,  and  a  cheap  something  to  write  with.  .  .  .  We 
need  only  say  here  that  poetry,  because  it  has  a  more  marked  rhythm 
than  prose,  must  be  more  intense  in  meaning  and  more  concise  in  style 
than  prose."     And  see  also    Hazlitt,  Lectures  on  the  English  Poets  : 
"  I  will  mention  three  works  which  come  as  near  to  poetry  as  possible 
without  absolutely  being  so;   namely,  the  Pilgrim 's  Progress,  Robinson 
Crusoe,  and  the  Tales  of  Boccaccio.     Chaucer  and  Dryden  have  trans- 
lated some  of  the  last  into  English  rime,  but   the   essence   and  the 
power  of  poetry  was  there  before.    That  which  lifts  the  spirit  above  the 
earth,  which  draws  the  soul  out  of  itself  with  indescribable  longings,  is 
poetry  in  kind,  and  generally  fit  to  become  so  in  name,  by  being  '  mar- 
ried to  immortal  verse.'     If  it  is  of  the  essence  of  poetry  to  strike  and 
fix  the  imagination,  whether  we  will  or  no,  to  make  the  eye  of  child- 
hood glisten  with  the  starting  tear,  to  be  never  thought  of  afterwards 
with  indifference,  John  Bunyan  and  Daniel  Defoe  may  be  permitted  to 
pass  for  poets  in  their  way."     To  these  add  Sidney,  Defense  of  Poesy 
11  18-22:  "Which  I  speak  to  show  that  it  is  not  riming  and  versing 
that  maketh  a  poet  —  no  more  than  a  long  gown  maketh  an  advocate, 
who,  though  he  pleaded  in  armor,  should  be  an  advocate  and   no 
soldier." 

9  8-19.   Plato  was  essentially  a  poet,  etc.     To  the  same  effect  in  Shel- 
ley's Preface  to  his  translation  of  Plato's  Symposium  :  "  Plato  exhibits 
the  rare  union  of  close  and  subtle  logic  with  the  Pythian  enthusiasm  of 
poetry,  melted  by  the  splendor  and  harmony  of  his  periods  into  one 
irresistible  stream  of  musical  impressions,  which  hurry  the  persuasions 


NO  TES.  65 

onward  as  in  a  breathless  career.  His  language  is  that  of  an  immortal 
spirit  rather  than  a  man.  Lord  Bacon  is,  perhaps,  the  only  writer 
who  in  these  particulars  can  be  compared  with  him;  his  imitator  Cicero 
sinks  in  the  comparison  into  an  ape  mocking  the  gestures  of  a  man." 
Cf.  also  Sidney,  Defense  3  27,  note. 

9  20.    Lord  Bacon  was  a  poet.     See  the  Filum  Labyrinthi,  and  the 
Essay  on  Death  particularly  (Shelley's  note). 

10  9  ff.    There  is  this  difference,  etc.      Cf.  Aristotle,  Poetics  9  1-3 : 
"  The  real  distinction  between  the  poet  and  the  historian  is  not  found 
in  the  employment  of  verse  by  the  former,  and  of  prose  by  the  latter, 
for,  if  we  suppose  the  history  of  Herodotus  to  be  versified,  it  would  be 
nothing  but  history  still,  only  now  in  a  metrical  form.    The  true  ground 
of  difference  is  that  the  historian  relates  what  has  taken  place,  the  poet 
how  certain  things  might  have  taken  place.    Hence  poetry  is  of  a  more 
philosophical  and  serious  character  than  history;   it  is,  we  might  say, 
more  universal  and  more  ideal.     Poetry  deals  with  the  general,  history 
with  the  particular.     Now  the  general  shows  how  certain  typical  char- 
acters will  speak  and  act,  according  to  the  law  of  probability  or  of 
necessity,  as  poetry  indicates  by  bestowing  certain  names  upon  these 
characters,  but  the  particular  merely  relates  what  Alcibiades,  a  historic 
individual,  actually  did  or  suffered."     And  see  Sidney,  Defense  18  25  ff. 

10  27-29.   Hence  epitomes,  etc.     Cf.  Bacon,  Adv.  Learning  2.  2.  4  r 
"  As  for  the  corruptions  and  moths  of  history,  which  are  epitomes,  the 
use  of  them  deserveth  to  be  banished,  as  all  men  of  sound  judgment 
have  confessed,  as  those  that  have  fretted  and   corroded  the  sound 
bodies  of  many  excellent  histories,  and  wrought  them  into  base  and 
unprofitable  dregs." 

11  4-5.   A  single  word  even   may  be   a   spark   of  inextinguishable 
thought.     Cf.  32  33-34  2 :  "  Each   is  as  a  spark,  a  burning  atom  of 
inextinguishable  thought." 

115-12.   And  thus  .  .  .  images.     Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  4  5-15. 
11  11.   Interstices.     Cf.  14  17,  39  28  ff.;   also  41  13. 

11  10-18.   Poetry  is  .  .  .  -with  its  delight.     Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  23  13- 
25  2,  29  19-20. 

12  3-7.    The  poems  of  Homer,  etc.     Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  2  27  ff. 

12  7-8.  Homer  embodied,  etc.  Cf.  Gladstone,  Gleanings  2.  148 : 
"  Lofty  example  in  comprehensive  form  is,  without  doubt,  one  of  the 
great  standing  needs  of  our  race.  To  this  want  it  has  been  from  the 
first  one  main  purpose  of  the  highest  poetry  to  answer.  The  quest  of 
Beauty  leads  all  those  who  engage  in  it  to  the  ideal  or  normal  man,  as 
the  summit  of  attainable  excellence.  .  .  .  The  concern  of  Poetry  with 


66  NOTES. 

corporal  beauty  is,  though  important,  yet  secondary :  this  art  uses 
form  as  an  auxiliary,  as  a  subordinate  though  proper  part  in  the  delin- 
eation of  mind  and  character,  of  which  it  is  appointed  to  be  a  visible 
organ.  But  with  mind  and  character  themselves  lies  the  highest  occu- 
pation of  the  Muse." 

12  11.   Achilles,  Hector,  and  Ulysses.     See  Sidney,  Defense  16  34- 
172:  "  See  whether  wisdom  and  temperance  in  Ulysses  and  Diomedes, 
valor  in  Achilles,  friendship  in  Nisus  and  Euryalus,  even  to  an  ignorant 
man  carry  not  an  apparent  shining." 

13  13-14.    To  temper,  etc.     Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  58  3-5 :  "  But  if  ... 
you  be  born  so  near  the  dull-making  cataract  of  Nilus,  that  you  can- 
not hear  the  planet-like  music  of  poetry." 

13  23-24.  But  poetry  acts  in  another  and  diviner  manner.  Cf. 
Jowett's  words  accompanying  his  translation  of  Plato,  2.  312-3  (2d 
edition)  :  "  In  modern  times  we  almost  ridicule  the  idea  of  poetry 
admitting  of  a  moral.  The  poet  and  the  prophet,  or  preacher,  in 
primitive  antiquity  are  one  and  the  same;  but  in  later  ages  they  seem 
to  fall  apart.  The  great  art  of  novel  writing,  that  peculiar  creation  of 
our  own  and  the  last  century,  which,  together  with  the  sister  art  of 
review  writing,  threatens  to  absorb  all  literature,  has  even  less  of  seri- 
ousness in  her  composition.  Do  we  not  often  hear  the  novel  writer 
censured  for  attempting  to  convey  a  lesson  to  the  minds  of  his  readers? 

"  Yet  the  true  office  of  a  poet  or  writer  of  fiction  is  not  merely  to 
give  amusement,  or  to  be  the  expression  of  the  feelings  of  mankind, 
good  or  bad,  or  even  to  increase  our  knowledge  of  human  nature. 
There  have  been  poets  in  modern  times,  such  as  Goethe  or  Words- 
worth, who  have  not  forgotten  their  high  vocation  of  teachers;  and 
the  two  greatest  of  the  Greek  dramatists  owe  their  sublimity  to  their 
ethical  character.  The  noblest  truths,  sung  of  in  the  purest  and  sweet- 
est language,  are  still  the  proper  material  of  poetry.  The  poet  clothes 
them  with  beauty,  and  has  a  power  of  making  them  enter  into  the 
hearts  and  memories  of  men.  He  has  not  only  to  speak  of  themes 
above  the  level  of  ordinary  life,  but  to  speak  of  them  in  a  deeper  and 
tenderer  way  than  they  are  ordinarily  felt,  so  as  to  awaken  the  feeling  of 
them  in  others.  The  old  he  makes  young  again;  the  familiar  principle 
he  invests  with  a  new  dignity;  he  finds  a  noble  expression  for  the 
commonplaces  of  morality  and  politics.  He  uses  the  things  of  sense 
so  as  to  indicate  what  is  beyond;  he  raises  us  through  earth  to  heaven. 
He  expresses  what  the  better  part  of  us  would  fain  say,  and  the  half- 
conscious  feeling  is  strengthened  by  the  expression.  He  is  his  own 
critic,  for  the  spirit  of  poetry  and  of  criticism  are  not  divided  in  him. 


NOTES.  67 

His  mission  is  not  to  disguise  men  from  themselves,  but  to  reveal  to 
them  their  own  nature,  and  make  them  better  acquainted  with  the 
world  around  them.  True  poetry  is  the  remembrance  of  youth,  of 
love,  the  embodiment  in  words  of  the  happiest  and  holiest  moments  of 
life,  of  the  noblest  thoughts  of  man,  of  the  greatest  deeds  of  the  past. 
The  poet  of  the  future  may  return  to  his  greater  calling  of  the  prophet 
or  teacher;  indeed,  we  hardly  know  what  may  not  be  effected  for  the 
human  race  by  a  better  use  of  the  poetical  and  imaginative  faculty. 
The  reconciliation  of  poetry,  as  of  religion,  with  truth,  may  still  be 
possible.  Neither  is  the  element  of  pleasure  to  be  excluded.  For 
when  we  substitute  a  higher  pleasure  for  a  lower  we  raise  men  in  the 
scale  of  existence.  Might  not  the  novelist,  too,  make  an  ideal,  or 
rather  many  ideals  of  social  life,  better  than  a  thousand  sermons? 
Plato,  like  the  Puritans,  is  too  much  afraid  of  poetic  and  artistic  influ- 
ences, though  he  is  not  without  a  true  sense  of  the  noble  purposes  to 
which  art  may  be  applied. 

"  Modern  poetry  is  often  a  sort  of  plaything,  or,  in  Plato's  language, 
a  flattery,  a  sophistry,  or  sham,  in  which,  without  any  serious  purpose, 
the  poet  lends  wings  to  his  fancy  and  exhibits  his  gifts  of  language  and 
metre.  Such  an  one  seeks  to  gratify  the  taste  of  his  readers;  he  has 
the  '  savoir  faire,'  or  trick  of  writing,  but  he  has  not  the  higher  spirit 
of  poetry.  He  has  no  conception  that  true  art  should  bring  order  out 
of  disorder;  that  it  should  make  provision  for  the  soul's  highest  inter- 
est; that  it  should  be  pursued  only  with  a  view  to  'the  improvement 
of  the  citizens.'  He  ministers  to  the  weaker  side  of  human  nature;  he 
sings  the  strain  of  love  in  the  latest  fashion;  instead  of  raising  men 
above  themselves  he  brings  them  back  to  the  'tyranny  of  the  many 
masters,'  from  which  all  his  life  long  a  good  man  has  been  praying  to 
be  delivered.  And  often,  forgetful  of  measure  and  order,  he  will  ex- 
press not  that  which  is  truest,  but  that  which  is  strongest.  Instead  of 
a  great  and  nobly-executed  subject,  perfect  in  every  part,  some  fancy 
of  a  heated  brain  is  worked  out  with  the  strangest  incongruity.  He  is 
not  the  master  of  his  words,  but  his  words  —  perhaps  borrowed  from 
another  —  the  faded  reflection  of  some  French  or  German  or  Italian 
writer,  have  the  better  of  him.  Though  we  are  not  going  to  banish 
the  poets,  how  can  we  suppose  that  such  utterances  have  any  healing 
or  life-giving  influence  on  the  minds  of  men? 

" '  Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter ' :  Art  then  must 
be  true,  and  politics  must  be  true,  and  the  life  of  man  must  be  true 
and  not  a  seeming  or  sham.  In  all  of  them  order  has  to  be  brought 
out  of  disorder,  truth  out  of  error  and  falsehood.  This  is  what  we 


68  NOTES. 

mean  by  the  greatest  improvement  of  man.  And  so,  having  considered 
in  what  way  '  we  can  best  spend  the  appointed  time,  we  leave  the  result 
with  God.' " 

13  27.  Poetry  lifts  the  veil,  etc.  The  image  of  concealment  and  dis- 
closure is  a  favorite  with  Shelley.  Cf.  72,9  29, 10  24, 12  13,  25-26,  29  ff., 
18  17,  19  33,  20  16,  28  22,  30  5-6,  33  6-8,  41  14,  33,  42  1-2,  10-11,  16. 

13  30.    And  the  impersonations,  etc.     Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  30  20-25. 

14  12-13.   Poetry  enlarges,  etc.    Cf.  9  22-24,  18  20-24;   also  17  5.     For 
the  image  cf.  Bacon,  Adv.  Learning  I.  I.  3:   "Nothing  can  fill,  much 
less  extend,  the  soul  of  man,  but  God  and  the  contemplation  of  God." 

14  21  ff.   A  poet  therefore  would  do  ill,  etc.     Cf.  Forman,  Our  Liv- 
ing Poets,  p.  50 :  "  For  a  poem  wherein  the  intimate  tissues  are  thus 
qualified  by  an  ante-natal  religiousness,  wherein  the  morality  is  not  an- 
atomical but  cellular,  there  will  always  be  (to  follow  up  this  analogy 
suggested  by  the  high  science  of  life)  critical  histologists  to  lay  finger 
on  this  and  that  part,  and  announce  to  the  untechnical  the  quality  and 
meaning  of  the  tissue;  but  such  quality  and  meaning  would  often  be 
knowledge  as  new  to  the  poet's  self  as  to  the  uninstructed  audience  — 
knowledge  indeed  as  new  as  the  chemistry  of  honey  to  the  bee.  .  .  . 
Doubtless  the  poet's  mind  would  grasp  and  recognize  the  codification 
deduced  from  his  work;   but  he  would  deny  any  intention  that  such 
codification  should  ever  have  been  deduced  —  his  proper   role   lying 
outside  and  around  the  considerations  set  forth  by  the  critic." 

15  20.   As.    This  connective  properly  refers  only  to  the  former  of 
the  two  preceding  clauses. 

16  7.    The  drama  had  its  birth.     For  an  excellent  account  of  the 
Greek   drama,  see   Moulton,  Ancient    Classical  Drama  (Macmillan, 
1890). 

16  16.  Idealisms.  Both  Shelley  and  Peacock  employ  these  abstracts 
in  -ism.  Cf.  17  28,  32  27,  S3  37,  57  26,  58  21. 

16  18.   Artists  of  the  most  consummate  skill.     Cf.  Shelley,  Discourse 
on  the  Manners  of  the  Ancients  :  "  For  it  is  worthy  of  observation  that 
whatever  the  poets  of  that  age  produced  is  as  harmonious  and  perfect 
as  possible.     If  a  drama,  for  instance,  were  the  composition  of  a  per- 
son of  inferior  talent,  it  was  still  homogeneous  and  free  from  inequali- 
ties; it  was  a  whole,  consistent  with  itself.     The  compositions  of  great 
minds  bore  throughout  the  sustained  stamp  of  their  greatness.     In  the 
poetry  of  succeeding  ages  the  expectations  are  often  exalted  on  Icarian 
wings,  and  fall,  too  much  disappointed  to  give  a  memory  and  a  name 
to  the  oblivious  pool  in  which  they  fell." 

17  6-7.   But  the  comedy  should  be  as  in  King  Lear,  universal,  ideal+ 


NOTES.  69 

and  sublime.     This  is  one  of  the  profoundest  sentences  in  the  essay. 
Cf.  the  discussion  in  Sidney's  Defense  of  Poesy  50  9,  note. 

17  20.    Calderon.     Cf.   Shelley's  letter  to  Peacock,   Sept.   21,   1819 
(Prose  Works  4.  125;   Peacock's  Works  3.  436)  :  "  I  have  read  about 
twelve  of  his  plays.     Some  of  them  certainly  deserve  to  be  ranked 
among  the  greatest  and  most  perfect  productions  of  the  human  mind. 
He  excels  all  modern  dramatists,  with  the  exception  of  Shakespeare, 
whom  he  resembles,  however,  in  the  depth  of  thought  and  subtlety  of 
imagination  of  his  writings,  and  in  the  one  rare  power  of  interweaving 
delicate  and  powerful  comic  traits  with  the  most  tragic  situations,  with- 
out diminishing  their  interest.     I  rank  him  far  above  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher."     Again  in  a  letter  to  Gisborne,  Nov.,  1820  (Prose  Works 
4.  193;   Peacock's  Works  3.  436)  :  "  I  am  bathing  myself  in  the  light 
and  odor  of  the  flowery  and  starry  Autos.     I  have  read  them  all  more 
than  once." 

1725.  Observation.  '  Observance '  is  now  appropriated  to  this  spe- 
cial sense.  Cf.  8  26. 

IS  12-15.  The  drama,  etc.  Cf.  Ruskin,  Crown  of  Wild  Olive 
(  War)  :  "  For  it  is  an  assured  truth  that,  whenever  the  faculties  of 
men  are  at  their  fulness,  they  must  express  themselves  by  art;  and  to 
say  that  a  state  is  without  such  expression  is  to  say  that  it  is  sunk  from 
the  proper  level  of  manly  nature." 

18  28-29.    Even  crime  is  disarmed  of  half  its  horror  and  all  its  con- 
tagion.    Cf.  Burke,  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France  (Payne's 
ed.  of  Select  Works  2 :  89)  :    "  Under  which  vice  itself  lost  half  its 
evil,  by  losing  all  its  grossness." 

19  1-2.    Self-knowledge  and  self-respect.     Cf.  Tennyson,  (Enone  : 

Self-reverence,  self-knowledge,  self-control, 
These  three  alone  lead  life  to  sovereign  power. 

19  4.    The  drama,  etc.     This  passage,  like  the  well-known  Shake- 
spearean parallel  {Hamlet  3.  2.  23-27),  may  be  traced  back  to  a  saying 
attributed  by  Donatus  to  Cicero  (Cicero,  ed.  Baiter-Kayser,  8.  228) : 
"  Comoediam  esse  imitationem  vitse,  speculum  consuetudinis,  imaginem 
veritatis"  [Comedy  is  the  semblance  of  life,  the  mirror  of  custom,  the 
image  of  truth]. 

20  2  ff.    Grossest  degradation   of  the   drama,  etc.     Cf.  Ward,  Hist. 
Eng.  Dram.  Lit.  2.  613-4:    "This  absence  of  moral  purpose  is  the 
true  cause  of  the  failure  of  our  post- Restoration  comic  dramatists  as  a 
body  to  satisfy  the  demands  which  are  to  be  made  upon  their  art." 
Also  2.  620:  "There  are  two  forces  which  no  dramatic  literature  can 


70  NOTES. 

neglect  with  impunity  —  the  national  genius  and  the  laws  of  morality. 
.  .  .  Because,  to  suit  the  vicious  license  of  their  public,  the  contem- 
porary comic  dramatists  bade  defiance  to  the  order  which  they  well 
knew  to  be  necessary  for  the  moral  government  of  human  society, 
their  productions  have  failed  to  hold  an  honorable  place  in  our  national 
literature.'' 

20  10.    Comedy  loses  its  ideal  universality.     Cf.  the  anecdote  related 
by  Peacock  (Memoirs  of  Shelley;    Works   3.  411),  which  illustrates 
Shelley's  sensitiveness  to  the  exaggerations  and  perversions  in  which 
comedy  sometimes  abounds :  "  He  had  a  prejudice  against  theatres, 
which  I  took  some  pains  to  overcome.     I  induced  him  one  evening 
to  accompany   me   to    a   representation   of  the    School  for   Scandal. 
When,  after  the  scene  which  exhibited  Charles  Surface  in  his  jollity, 
the  scene  returned,  in  the  fourth  act,  to  Joseph's  library,  Shelley  said 
to  me :  '  I  see  the  purpose  of  this  comedy.     It  is  to  associate  virtue 
with  bottles  and  glasses,  and  villany  with  books.'    I  had  great  difficulty 
to  make  him  stay  to  the  end.     He  often  talked  of  the  withering  and 
perverting  spirit  of  comedy.     I  do  not  think  he  ever  went  to  another." 
Another  illustration  is  furnished  by  Peacock  (Works  3.  412)  :  "When 
I  came  to  the  passage  [Michael  Perez's  soliloquy  in  Rule  a  Wife  and 
Have  a  Wife~\  ...  he  said,  '  There  is  comedy  in  its  perfection.     So- 
ciety grinds  down  poor  wretches  into  the  dust  of  abject  poverty,  till 
they  are  scarcely  recognizable  as  human  beings;   and  then,  instead  of 
being  treated  as  what  they  really  are,  subjects  of  the  deepest  pity,  they 
are  brought  forward  as  grotesque  monstrosities  to  be  laughed  at.'     I 
said,  '  You  must  admit  the  fineness  of  the  expression.'     '  It  is  true,'  he 
answered,  '  but  the  finer  it  is  the  worse  it  is,  with  such  a  perversion  of 
sentiment.'  " 

21  13.    The  bucolic  writers.     Theocritus,  Moschus,  and  Bion. 

22  27.   Astraa.    Goddess  of  Justice.    Cf.  Ovid,  Metamorph.  I.  150-1 : 
"  Piety  lies  vanquished,  and  the  virgin  Astrsea  is  the  last  of  the  heav- 
enly deities  to  abandon  the  earth,  now  drenched  in  slaughter." 

236.  Chain.  Cf.  Plato,  Ion  533,  536  (Shelley's  trans.):  "It  is  a 
divine  influence  which  moves  you,  like  that  which  resides  in  the  stone 
called  magnet  by  Euripides,  and  Heraclea  by  the  people.  For  not 
only  does  this  stone  itself  possess  the  power  of  attracting  iron  rings, 
but  it  can  communicate  to  them  the  power  of  attracting  other  rings; 
so  that  you  may  see  sometimes  a  long  chain  of  rings,  and  other  iron 
substances,  attached  and  suspended  one  to  the  other  by  this  influence. 
And  as  the  power  of  the  stone  circulates  through  all  the  links  of  this 
series,  and  attaches  each  to  each,  so  the  Muse,  communicating  through 


NOTES.  71 

those  whom  she  has  first  inspired,  to  all  others  capable  of  sharing  in 
the  inspiration,  the  influence  of  that  first  enthusiasm,  creates  a  chain 
and  a  succession.  .  .  .  Know  then  that  the  spectator  represents  the 
last  of  the  rings  which  derive  a  mutual  and  successive  power  from  the 
Heracleotic  stone  of  which  I  spoke.  You,  the  actor  or  rhapsodist, 
represent  the  intermediate  one,  and  the  poet  that  attached  to  the 
magnet  itself.  Through  all  these  the  God  draws  the  souls  of  men 
according  to  his  pleasure,  having  attached  them  to  one  another  by  the 
power  transmitted  from  himself.  And  as  from  that  stone,  so  a  long 
chain  of  poets,  theatrical  performers  and  subordinate  teachers  and 
professors  of  the  musical  art,  laterally  connected  with  the  main  series, 
are  suspended  from  the  Muse  itself,  as  from  the  origin  of  the  influence. 
We  call  this  inspiration,  and  our  expression  indeed  comes  near  to  the 
truth;  for  the  person  who  is  an  agent  in  this  universal  and  reciprocal 
attraction  is  indeed  possessed,  and  some  are  attracted  and  suspended 
by  one  of  the  poets  who  are  the  first  rings  in  this  great  chain,  and  some 
by  another." 

23  20.   Episodes.     Cf.  25  1. 

25  1.  Quia  carent  vate  sacro.  "  Because  they  lack  the  bard  divine." 
The  reading  of  the  original  is :  "  Carent  quia  vate  sacro  "  (Horace, 
Od.  4.  9.  28).  Conington  thus  translates  w.  25-28: 

Before  Atrides  men  were  brave, 
But  ah !  oblivion,  dark  and  long, 
Has  locked  them  in  a  tearless  grave, 
For  lack  of  consecrating  song. 

25  3-4.  Inspired  rhapsodist.  Probably  suggested  by  Plato's  Ion. 
Ion  himself,  according  to  the  dialogue,  is  such  an  inspired  rhapsodist. 

25  14.  Generals.  Shelley  may  still  have  been  thinking  of  the  Ion. 
Cf.  Ion  540-1  (Shelley's  trans.)  : 

Ion.   I  see  no  difference  between  a  general  and  a  rhapsodist. 

Socrates.  How !  no  difference  ?  Are  not  the  arts  of  generalship  and  reci- 
tation two  distinct  things  ? 

Ion.   No,  they  are  the  same. 

Socrates.  Must  he  who  is  a  good  rhapsodist  be  also  necessarily  a  good 
general  ? 

Ion.   Infallibly,  O  Socrates. 

25  20-21.  The  poetry  of  Moses,  Job,  David,  Solomon,  and  Isaiah. 
Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  9  19-24. 

25  29.  Three  forms.  Such  a  division  is  found  in  the  Fourth  Book 
of  the  Republic.  Jowett  (Plato  3.  57)  says  on  this  point:  "The  psy- 


72  NOTES. 

chology  of  Plato  extends  no  further  than  the  division  of  the  soul  into 
the  rational,  irascible,  and  concupiscent  elements,  which,  as  far  as  we 
know,  was  first  made  by  him,  and  has  been  retained  by  Aristotle  and 
succeeding  ethical  writers.  The  chief  difficulty  in  this  early  analysis 
of  the  mind  is  to  define  exactly  the  place  of  the  irascible  faculty,  which 
may  be  variously  described  under  the  terms  righteous  indignation, 
spirit,  passion."  This  distribution  of  faculties  is  likewise  observed  in 
the  Tinuzus ;  cf.  Jowett  3.  582:  "The  soul  of  man  is  divided  by  him 
into  three  parts,  answering  roughly  to  the  charioteer  and  steeds  of  the 
Phaedrus,  and  to  the  \6yos,  Oupos,  and  tiriOufj.ia  of  the  Republic  and 
Nicomachean  Ethics.  First,  there  is  the  immortal  part  which  is  seated 
in  the  brain,  and  is  alone  divine,  and  akin  to  the  soul  of  the  universe. 
This  alone  thinks  and  knows  and  is  the  ruler  of  the  whole.  Secondly, 
there  is  the  higher  mortal  soul  which,  though  liable  to  perturbations  of 
her  own,  takes  the  side  of  reason  against  the  lower  appetites.  The 
seat  of  this  is  the  heart,  in  which  courage,  anger,  and  all  the  nobler 
affections  are  supposed  to  reside.  .  .  .  There  is  also  a  third  or  appe- 
titive soul,  which  receives  the  commands  of  the  immortal  part,  not 
immediately  but  mediately,  through  the  higher  mortal  nature."  An- 
other and  fourfold  division  is  found  in  the  Sixth  Book  {Rep.  511; 
Jowett  3.  399)  :  "  Let  there  be  four  faculties  in  the  soul  —  reason 
answering  to  the  highest,  understanding  to  the  second,  faith  or  per- 
suasion to  the  third,  and  knowledge  of  shadows  to  the  last."  Else- 
where (Plato  3.  77)  Jowett  translates  the  designation  of  the  fourth 
faculty  as  "  the  perception  of  likenesses." 

26  1-3.   And  the  crow,  etc.     Shakespeare,  Macb.  3.  2.  51-3. 

26  14  Celtic.     Here,  and  wherever  in  the  essay  the  word  '  Celtic ' 
occurs,  we  should  undoubtedly  substitute  '  Germanic.'     Shelley's  inad- 
vertence is  surprising. 

27  9  ff.    The  principle  of  equality,  etc.     Cf.  Plato,  Republic  416-7 
(Jowett's  trans.  3.  294-5)  :  "  Then  now  let  us  consider  what  will  be 
their  way  of  life,  if  they  are  to  realize  our  idea  of  them.     In  the  first 
place,  none  of  them  should  have  any  property  beyond  what  is  abso- 
lutely necessary;   neither  should  they  have  a  private  house  or  treasury 
closed  against  any  one  who  has  a  mind  to   enter;    their   provisions 
should  be  only  such  as  are  required  by  trained  warriors,  who  are  men 
of  temperance  and  courage;   they  should  agree  to  receive  from  the 
citizens  a  fixed  rate  of  pay,  enough  to  meet  the  expenses  of  the  year 
and  no  more,  and  they  will  go  to  mess  and  live  together  like  soldiers 
in  a  camp.     Gold  and  silver  we  will  tell  them  that  they  have  from 
God;   the  diviner  metal  is  within  them,  and  they  have  therefore   no 


NOTES.  73 

need  of  the  other  earthly  dross  which  passes  under  the  name  of  gold, 
and  ought  not  to  pollute  the  divine  by  earthly  admixture,  for  that  com- 
moner metal  has  been  the  source  of  many  unholy  deeds;  but  their  own 
is  undefiled.  .  .  .  And  this  will  be  their  salvation,  and  the  salvation 
of  the  State.  But  should  they  ever  acquire  homes  or  lands  or  moneys 
of  their  own,  they  will  become  housekeepers  and  husbandmen  instead  of 
guardians,  enemies  and  tyrants  instead  of  allies  of  the  other  citizens ; 
hating  and  being  hated,  plotting  and  being  plotted  against,  they  will 
pass  through  life  in  much  greater  terror  of  internal  than  of  external 
enemies,  and  the  hour  of  ruin,  both  to  themselves  and  to  the  rest  of 
the  State,  will  be  at  hand." 

28  20-21.  Galeotto,  etc.  "  Galeotto  was  the  book  and  he  who  wrote 
it."  Dante,  Inf.  5.  137. 

28  22.  Petrarch.  Cf.  Shelley's  Discourse  on  the  Manners  of  the 
Ancients  :  "  Perhaps  nothing  has  been  discovered  in  the  fragments  of 
the  Greek  lyric  poets  equivalent  to  the  sublime  and  chivalric  sensibility 
of  Petrarch." 

28  33.     Vita  Nuova.     Of  this  there  are  excellent  translations  by  Ros- 
setti,  Dante  and  his  Circle,  and  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton. 

29  7-8.    The  most  glorious  imagination  of  modern  poetry.     Cf.  Shel- 
ley's Discourse  on  the  Manners  of  the  Ancients :  "  Perhaps  Dante  cre- 
ated imaginations  of  greater  loveliness  and  energy  than  any  that  are  to 
be  found  in  the  ancient  literature  of  Greece." 

29  18.  Dissonance  of  arms.  Cf.  Longfellow,  The  A rsenal  at  Spring- 
field: 

Peace !  and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals 
The  blast  of  War's  great  organ  shakes  the  skies ! 
But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals, 
The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise. 

29  27-28.  The  error  which  confounded  diversity  with  inequality. 
The  truer  doctrine  has  been  expressed  by  Tennyson,  Princess  7.  259- 

287: 

For  woman  is  no4  undevelopt  man, 

But  diverse ;  could  we  make  her  as  the  man, 

Sweet  love  were  slain ;  his  dearest  bond  is  this, 

Not  like  to  like,  but  like  in  difference. 

Yet  in  the  long  years  liker  must  they  grow ; 

The  man  be  more  of  woman,  she  of  man ; 

He  gain  in  sweetness  and  in  moral  height, 

Nor  lose  the  wrestling  thews  that  throw  the  world ; 

She  mental  breadth,  nor  fail  in  childward  care, 

N»r  lose  the  childlike  in  the  larger  mind ; 


74  NOTES. 

Till  at  the  last  she  set  herself  to  man, 

Like  perfect  music  unto  noble  words ; 

And  so  these  twain,  upon  the  skirts  of  Time, 

Sit  side  by  side,  full-sum  m'd  in  all  their  powers, 

Dispensing  harvest,  sowing  the  To-be, 

Self-reverent  each  and  reverencing  each, 

Distinct  in  individualities, 

But  like  each  other  ev'n  as  those  who  love. 

.  .  .  Seeing  either  sex  alone 
Is  half  itself,  and  in  true  marriage  lies 
Nor  equal,  nor  unequal ;  each  fulfils 
Defect  in  each,  and  always  thought  in  thought, 
Purpose  in  purpose,  will  in  will,  they  grow. 

30  12.   Riphaus.     See  Dante,  Paradiso  20.  67-69,  118-124  : 

Who  would  believe,  down  in  the  errant  world, 
That  e'er  the  Trojan  Ripheus  in  this  round 
Could  be  the  fifth  one  of  the  holy  lights? 
.  .  .  Through  grace,  that  from  so  deep 
A  fountain  wells  that  never  hath  the  eye 
Of  any  creature  reached  its  primal  wave, 
Set  all  his  love  below  on  righteousness ; 
Wherefore  from  grace  to  grace  did  God  unclose 
His  eye  to  our  redemption  yet  to  be, 
Whence  he  believed  therein. 

Cf.  Plumptre's  note  on  Paradiso  19.  70,  in  his  translation  of  the 
Divine  Comedy  :  "  How  can  the  justice  of  God  be  reconciled  with  the 
condemnation  of  the  heathen  who  have  sought  righteousness,  and  yet 
have  lived  and  died  without  baptism  and  in  ignorance  of  the  faith? 
Dante  has  no  other  solution  than  that  of  man's  incapacity  to  measure 
the  Divine  justice.  ...  It  would  be  a  miracle  if  Scripture  presented 
no  such  problems.  Man  must  believe  that  God  is  good  and  righteous 
in  all  his  ways.  If  Dante  does  not  go  beyond  this,  we  must  remember 
that  he  at  least  placed  the  righteous  heathen  in  a  state  in  which  there 
was  only  the  pain  of  unsatisfied  desire.  ...  It  is  significant  that  his 
yearning  after  a  wider  hope  grows  stronger  with  his  deepening  faith 
towards  the  close  of  life." 

Justissimus  unus.  ^Eneid  2.  426-7 :  "  Rhipeus  also  falls,  who  was 
above  all  others  the  most  just  among  the  Trojans,  and  the  strictest 
observer  of  right." 

31  8-10.    And  (his  bold  neglect,  etc.     Cf.  14  32-15  4. 

31  14.    Laws  of  epic  truth.    For  these  consult  the  Poetics  of  Aristotle. 


NOTES.  75 

32  1-2.   Limed  the  wings  of  his  swift  spirit.     See  Hamlet  3.  3.  68-9 : 

O  limed  soul,  that,  struggling  to  be  free 
Art  more  engaged. 

32  6.   Mock-birds.     Mocking  birds. 

32  7.  Apollonius  Rhodius.  Flourished  250-300  B.C.  He  is  best 
known  by  his  Argonautics,  a  poem  in  four  books  (a  translation  in 
Bonn's  Library).  Cf.  Mahaffy,  Hist.  Grk.  Lit.  I.  147-152,  or  his 
Greek  Life  and  Thought,  pp.  269-276. 

32  8.  Quintus  (Calaber)  Smyrn&us.  Cf.  Mahaffy,  Hist.  Grk.  Lit. 
I.  153  :  "  But  we  find  no  enduring  result  till  the  beginning  of  the  fifth 
century,  when  an  epic  school  was  founded,  principally  in  Upper  Egypt, 
and  of  whom  (sic)  two  representatives  are  well  known  —  Nonnus  and 
Musaeus.  There  are  several  others  mentioned  in  the  fuller  literature 
of  the  time.  First,  Quintus  Smyrnaeus  (called  Calaber  from  the  find- 
ing there  of  the  MS.),  who  wrote  a  continuation  of  Homer  in  fourteen 
books,  thus  taking  up  the  work  of  the  cyclic  poets,  who  were  probably 
lost  before  his  time." 

Nonnus.  Mahaffy,  Hist.  Grk.  Lit.  I.  153:  "Nonnus  only,  standing 
between  the  living  and  the  dead,  composing,  on  the  one  hand,  his  long 
epic  on  the  adventures  of  Dionysus,  and,  on  the  other,  his  paraphrase 
of  St.  John's  Gospel  into  Homeric  hexameters,  is  a  most  interesting 
figure,  though  beyond  the  scope  of  the  historian  of  Greek  classical  lit- 
erature." 

Lucan.  Author  of  the  Pharsalia  (39-65  A.D.).  See  Cruttwell, 
Hist.  Rom.  Lit.,  pp.  359-371. 

Statius.  Author  of  the  Thebaid,  and  of  an  unfinished  Achilleid 
(6i-ca.  98  A.D.).  Cruttwell,  pp.  423-9. 

32  9.    Claudian.     Close  of  fourth  and  beginning  of  fifth  century  A.D. 
Author  of  Rape  of  Proserpine,  besides  panegyrical  and  other  poems. 

33  16-21.    The  age  .  .  .  invention.     Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  3  8-15. 

34  27-30.    Let  him  spare  to  deface,  etc.     Cf.  Selkirk,  Ethics  and  Es- 
thetics of  Modern  Poetry,  pp.  205-6 :  "  In  the  civilisation  whose  pro- 
gress is  thoroughly  sound,  the  education  of  the  head  and  of  the  heart 
should  go  abreast,  and  the  assumed  advancement  in  which  poetry  de- 
clines is  more  than  likely  to  be  the  civilisation  of  an  age  that  sacrifices 
its  emotions  to  its  reason.     If  this  be  true,  we  must  be  prepared  to  see 
a  good  many  other  things  decline.     First  after  poetry,  perhaps  religion, 
and  after  that  the  possibility  of  political  cohesion.     If  we  read  history 
carefully  enough,  we  shall  find,  in  most  cases,  that  this  lopsided  civilisa- 
tion, under  some  very  high-sounding  aliases,  '  Perfectibility  of  Human 


76  NOTES. 

Nature,'  'Age  of  Reason,'  and  so  forth,  has  a  trick  of  moving  in  a 
circle,  and  playing  itself  out.  By-and-by  the  neglected  half  of  human 
nature  has  its  r»venge.  The  fatal  flaw  in  this  emotionless  culture  is 
that  it  contains  no  sort  of  human  amalgam  strong  enough  to  bind  soci- 
ety together.  The  individual  forces  composing  it  are  what  Lord  Palm- 
erston  would  have  called  '  a  fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms,'  and  possess 
no  element  of  political  adherence.  The  forgotten  thing  that  under  the 
name  of  Emotion  was  allowed  to  fall  asleep  as  quiet  as  a  lamb  —  the 
busy  worshippers  of  Reason  taking  no  note  of  the  fact  —  awakens  one 
day  with  a  changed  name  and  a  changed  nature.  It  is  now  a  lion. 
Spurned  Emotion  has  grown  to  Rage,  an  easy  transition.  Renewed 
by  his  sleep,  the  lion  rises  up  and  scowls  around  him,  rushes  into  soci- 
ety with  his  tail  in  the  air,  inaugurates  a  Reign  of  Terror,  and  reasserts 
the  sovereignty  of  the  brute.  When  the  mad  fit  has  gone,  and  the  long 
arrears  to  the  heart  have  been  paid  for  in  blood,  cash  down,  society 
sits  down  again,  clothed  and  in  its  right  mind.  The  Sisyphus  of  civil- 
isation finds  himself  again  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  glad  to  accept  a  phi- 
losophy that,  if  less  high-sounding  and  pretentious,  is  at  least  a  good 
deal  more  human." 

35  2.  Exasperate.  In  the  etymological  sense.  Cf.  exasperation, 
37  28. 

35  4-6.  To  him  that  hath,  etc.  An  inexact  quotation.  See  Mark 
4.  25 :  "For  he  that  hath,  to  him  shall  be  given;  and  he  that  hath  not, 
from  him  shall  be  taken  even  that  which  he  hath."  Other  forms,  but 
none  identical  with  Shelley's  version,  may  be  found  in  Matt.  13.  12  and 
25.  29;  Luke  8.  1 8  and  19.  26. 

35  23-24.  The  melancholy  which  is  inseparable  from  the  sweetest 
melody.  So  in  Shelley's  To  a  Skylark  : 

Our  sincerest  laughter 
With  some  pain  is  fraught ; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought. 

And  Shakespeare,  Merck.  Ven.  5.  i.  69:  "I  am  never  merry  when  I 
hear  sweet  music." 

35  27-28.   //  is  better  to  go,  etc.     Another  example  of  inexact  quota- 
tion.    See  Eccl.  7.  2 :  "  It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning, 
than  to  go  to  the  house  of  feasting." 

36  15.    The  Inquisition  in  Spain.     Abolished  in  1808,  it  was  again 
revived  by  Ferdinand  VII.,  and  again  suppressed  in  1820,  the  year  be- 
fore Shelley  wrote  the  Defense. 

37  12-13.   /  dare  not,  etc.     Macbeth  \ .  7.  45. 


NOTES.  77 

38  2.  God  and  Mammon.  Matt.  6.  24 :  "  Ye  cannot  serve  God  and 
mammon." 

38  27-29.   As  the  odor,  etc.     Cf.  8  19-21. 

39  7.   A  man  cannot  say,  "  I  will  compose  poetry."     Cf.  Sidney,  De- 
fense 46  20—21 :  "  A  poet  no  industry  can  make,  if  his  own  genius  be 
not  carried  into  it." 

39  25.    7/ii?  toil  and  the  delay,  etc.     Such  toil  seems  to  be  recom- 
mended by  Dante ;   cf.  his  treatise  On  the  Vulgar  Tongue,  Bk.  2,  ch.  4 
(Howell's  trans.)  :  "  But  these  poets  differ  from  the  great  poets  —  that 
is,  the  regular  ones,  —  for  these  last  have  written  poetry  with  stately 
language  and  regular  art,  whereas  the  others,  as  has  been  said,  write 
by  chance.     It  therefore  happens  that  the  nearer  we  approach  to  the 
great  poets,  the  more  correct  is  the  poetry  we  write.  .  .  .  The  proper 
result  can  never  be  attained  without  strenuous  efforts  of  genius,  con- 
stant practice  in  the  art,  and  fully  available  knowledge.  .  .  .  And  here 
let  the  folly  of  those  stand  confessed  who,  innocent  of  art  and  knowl- 
edge, and  trusting  to  genius  alone,  rush  forward  to  sing  of  the  highest 
subjects  in  the  highest  style." 

40  2.    Unpremeditated.      Milton    (P.   L.   9.   21-24)    speaks   of  his 

"  celestial  Patroness," 

Who  deigns 

Her  nightly  visitation  unimplored, 
And  dictates  to  me  slumbering,  or  inspires 
Easy  my  unpremeditated  verse. 

40  23-25.  //  is  as  it  were  the  interpretation  of  a  diviner  nature 
through  our  own.  Cf.  Plato,  fan  533-4  (Shelley's  trans.)  :  "  For  the 
authors  of  those  great  poems  which  we  admire  do  not  attain  to  excel- 
lence through  the  rules  of  any  art,  but  they  utter  their  beautiful  melo- 
dies of  verse  in  a  state  of  inspiration,  and,  as  it  were,  possessed  by  a 
spirit  not  their  own.  Thus  the  composers  of  lyrical  poetry  create  those 
admired  songs  of  theirs  in  a  state  of  divine  insanity,  like  the  Cory- 
bantes,  who  lose  all  control  over  their  reason  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
sacred  dance,  and  during  this  supernatural  possession  are  excited  to 
the  rhythm  and  harmony  which  they  communicate  to  men.  .  .  .  For 
a  poet  is  indeed  a  thing  ethereally  light,  winged,  and  sacred,  nor  can 
he  compose  any  thing  worth  calling  poetry  until  he  becomes  inspired 
and  as  it  were  mad,  or  whilst  any  reason  remains  in  him.  For  whilst 
a  man  retains  any  portion  of  the  thing  called  reason,  he  is  utterly  in- 
competent to  produce  poetry,  or  to  vaticinate.  Thus  those  who  declaim 
various  and  beautiful  poetry  upon  any  subject,  as  for  instance  upon 
Homer,  are  not  enabled  to  do  so  by  art  or  study;  but  every  rhapsodist 


78  NOTES. 

or  poet,  whether  dithyrambic,  encomiastic,  choral,  epic,  or  iambic,  is 
excellent  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  his  participation  in  the  divine 
influence  and  the  degree  in  which  the  Muse  itself  has  descended  on 
him.  In  other  respects  poets  may  be  sufficiently  ignorant  and  inca- 
pable. For  they  do  not  compose  according  to  any  art  which  they  have 
acquired,  but  from  the  impulse  of  the  divinity  within  them;  for  did 
they  know  any  rules  of  criticism,  according  to  which  they  could  com- 
pose beautiful  verses  upon  one  subject,  they  would  be  able  to  exert  the 
same  faculty  with  respect  to  all  or  any  other.  The  God  seems  pur- 
posely to  have  deprived  all  poets,  prophets,  and  soothsayers  of  every 
particle  of  reason  and  understanding,  the  better  to  adapt  them  to  their 
employment  as  his  ministers  and  interpreters;  and  that  we,  their  audi- 
tors, may  acknowledge  that  those  who  write  so  beautifully  are  pos- 
sessed, and  address  us  inspired  by  the  God.  A  presumption  in  favor 
of  this  opinion  may  be  drawn  from  the  circumstance  of  Tynnichus  the 
Chalcidian  having  composed  no  other  poem  worth  mentioning  except 
the  famous  poem  which  is  in  every  body's  mouth,  —  perhaps  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  lyrical  compositions,  and  which  he  himself  calls  a  gift 
of  the  Muses.  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  examples  of  this 
sort  are  exhibited  by  the  God  himself  to  prove  that  those  beautiful 
poems  are  not  human  nor  from  man,  but  divine  and  from  the  Gods, 
and  that  poets  are  only  the  inspired  interpreters  of  the  Gods,  each  ex- 
cellent in  proportion  to  the  degree  of  his  inspiration.  This  example  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  lyrics  having  been  produced  by  a  poet  in  other 
respects  the  worst  seems  to  have  been  afforded  as  a  divine  evidence  of 
the  truth  of  this  opinion." 

41  5-8.    A  -word,  a  trait  .  .  .  will  touch   the  enchanted  chord.     Gf. 
Byron,  Childe  Harold  Bk.  4,  stanza  23 : 

And  slight  withal  may  be  the  things  that  bring 

Back  on  the  heart  the  weight  which  it  would  fling 

Aside  for  ever :  it  may  be  a  sound  — 

A  tone  of  music  —  summer's  eve  —  or  spring  — 

A  flower  —  the  wind —  the  ocean  —  which  shall  wound, 

Striking  the  electric  chain  wherewith  we  are  darkly  bound. 

425-6.    The  mind,  etc..     Paradise  Lost  I.  254-5. 

42  19-20.   //  creates   anew   the   universe.     Cf.    Sidney,   Defense   of 
Poesy  7  26-9  5. 

42  23.  Words  of  Tasso.  Somewhat  differently  quoted  in  Shelley's 
letter  to  Peacock  of  i6th  August,  1818,  where  it  stands:  Non  c'e  in 
mondo  chi  merita  nome  di  creatore,  che  Dio  ed  il  Poeta.  In  either 


NOTES.  79 

case  the  translation  would  be  much  the  same :  None  merits  the  name 
of  creator  except  God  and  the  poet.  Cf.  Sidney,  Defense  of  Poesy  8  27- 
30 :  "  But  rather  give  right  honor  to  the  Heavenly  Maker  of  that 
maker,  who,  having  made  man  to  His  own  likeness,  set  him  beyond 
and  over  all  the  works  of  that  second  nature." 

43  7.    Confirm.    There  is  a  variant  reading,  confine. 

43  13.  "  There  sitting  where  we  dare  not  soar."  Adapted  from  Mil- 
ton, P.  L.  4.  829  : 

Ye  knew  me  once  no  mate 
For  you,  there  sitting  where  ye  durst  not  soar. 

43  21-31.   This  passage  is  framed  out  of  Scriptural  reminiscences. 
Some  or  all  of  the  following  sentences  must  have  been  present  to  Shel- 
ley's mind : 

Dan.  5.  27.    Thou  art  weighed  in  the  balances,  and  art  found  wanting. 

Isa.  40.  15.  Behold  the  nations  are  as  a  drop  of  a  bucket,  and  are 
counted  as  the  small  dust  of  the  balance. 

Isa.  i.  18.  Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  as  white  as 
snow. 

Rev.  7.  14.  Washed  their  robes,  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of 
the  Lamb. 

Heb.  9.  15.  The  mediator  of  the  new  testament,  that  by  means  of 
death,  for  the  redemption  of  the  transgressions  that  were  under  the  first 
testament.  .  .  . 

Heb.  12.  24.  And  to  Jesus  the  mediator  of  the  new  covenant,  and  to 
the  blood  of  sprinkling. 

Matt.  7.  i.    Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged. 

44  26.    The  passions  purely  evil.     Shelley  seems  to  have  in  mind 
some  such  classification  of  sins  into  lesser  and  greater  as  Dante  adopts 
in  the  Inferno.     The  threefold  division  of  Dante  is  into  sins  of  I.   In- 
continence.    II.    Malice.     III.   Bestiality.     Of  these   the  former  are 
regarded  as  the  more  venial,  the  latter  as  the  more  deadly.     For  the 
subdivisions,  see  Longfellow's  Notes  to  the  Inferno,  the  portion  pre- 
ceding the   Commentary  on  Canto  I.,  or  Miss  Rossetti's  Shadow  of 
Dante,  ch.  5. 

44  32.    A  polemical  reply.    To  the  essay  of  Peacock,  for  which  see 
pp.  47-61. 

45  6.    7,  like  them,  etc.     This  statement  is  illustrated  by  the  follow- 
ing  quotation    from   one   of  Shelley's  letters  to  Peacock   (Peacock's 
Works  3.  473;   Shelley's  Prose  Works,  Fonnan's  edition,  4.  196-7)  : 


80  NOTES. 

"  PISA,  March  ai,  1821. 

"MY  DEAR  PEACOCK,— 

"  I  dispatch  by  this  post  the  first  part  of  an  essay  intended  to 
consist  of  three  parts,  which  I  design  as  an  antidote  to  your  '  Four  Ages 
of  Poetry.'  You  will  see  that  I  have  taken  a  more  general  view  of  what 
is  poetry  than  you  have,  and  will  perhaps  agree  with  several  of  my  posi- 
tions, without  considering  your  own  touched.  But  read  and  judge ;  and 
do  not  let  us  imitate  the  great  founders  of  the  picturesque,  Price  and  Payne 
Knight,  who,  like  two  ill-trained  beagles,  began  snarling  at  each  other  when 
they  could  not  catch  the  hare. 

"  I  hear  the  welcome  news  of  a  box  from  England  announced  by  the 
Gisbornes.  How  much  new  poetry  does  it  contain?  The  Bavii  and  Msevii 
of  the  day  are  very  fertile ;  and  I  wish  those  who  honor  me  with  boxes 
would  read  and  inwardly  digest  your  '  Four  Ages  of  Poetry ' ;  for  I  had 
much  rather,  for  my  own  private  reading,  receive  political,  geological,  and 
moral  treatises  than  this  stuff  in  terza,  ottava,  and  tremillesima  rima,  whose 
earthly  baseness  has  attracted  the  lightning  of  your  undiscriminating  cen- 
sure upon  the  temple  of  immortal  song.  These  verses  enrage  me  far  more 
than  those  of  Codrus  did  Juvenal,  and  with  better  reason.  Juvenal  need 
not  have  been  stunned  unless  he  had  liked  it ;  but  my  boxes  are  packed 
with  this  trash,  to  the  exclusion  of  better  matter." 

45  7.  Codri.  Codrus  was  perhaps  a  fictitious  name.  In  any  case 
a  tragedy  on  the  subject  of  Theseus  is  attributed  to  a  certain  Codrus, 
or,  as  some  manuscripts  read,  Cordus,  by  Juvenal,  who  at  the  begin- 
ning of  his  First  Satire  speaks  of  the  author  and  his  production  in 
terms  of  bitter  railing  (Juv.  Sat.  I.  1-2):  "What!  always  a  mere 
hearer?  What,  never  to  retort,  bored  as  I  am  so  often  by  the  Theseid 
of  Cordus  hoarse  with  reciting?"  See  also  the  last  note. 

45  8.  Bavins  and  Mavius.  Associated  together  by  Virgil,  Ed. 
3.  90 :  "  Let  him  that  hates  not  Bavius,  love  your  verses,  Msevius." 
Msevius  is  likewise  the  object  of  Horace's  detestation  (Epode  10).  In 
Smith's  Diet,  of  Greek  and  Roman  Biography  it  is  said  of  them :  "  Ba- 
vius and  Msevius,  whose  names  have  become  a  byword  of  scorn  for  all 
jealous  and  malevolent  poetasters,  owe  their  unenviable  immortality  to 
the  enmity  which  they  displayed  toward  the  rising  genius  of  the  most 
distinguished  of  their  contemporaries."  See  also  note  on  45  6. 

45  21.    The  second  part.     This  was  never  written. 

45  31.    Low-thoughted.     An  epithet  borrowed  from  Milton,  Comus  6 : 
'*  low-thoughted  care." 

46  10  ff.    The  persons,  etc.     The  thought  seems  to  owe  something  to 
the  arguments  of  Plato's  Ion.     See  note  on  40  23-25. 

46  32.   Legislators.     Cf.  6  1-3. 


INDEX   OF   PROPER   NAMES. 


Accius  24  3. 

Achilles  12  11. 

Addison  19  24. 

.Eschylus  6  21   (Agamemnon    17 

10). 

Apollonius  Rhodius  32  7. 
Ariosto   29  19   (Orlando    Furioso 

32  13,404). 

Bacon  5  4,  9  19,  36  19,  43  17. 
Bavius  45  8. 
Beatrice  29  4. 
Boccaccio  33  17,  36  18. 

Calderon  17  20,  29  20,  36  19. 
Camillus  24  21. 
Camoens  (Lusiad  32  14). 
Catullus  24  9. 
Charles  II.  20  3. 
Chaucer  33  19,  36  18. 
Cicero  9  17. 
Claudian  32  9. 
Codrus  (Codri  45  7). 

Dante  6  22,  10  5,  28  31,  29  33,  30 
3,  10,  31  28,  32  15,  21,  24,  33  17, 
36  18  (Divina  Commedia  29  10, 
31  18;  VitaNuova2833). 

David  25  21. 

Ennius  24  2. 
Euripides  14  33. 

Gibbon  36  5. 


Hannibal  24  24. 

Hector  12  11. 

Herodotus  11  6. 

Homer  12  3,  7,  14  29,  15  5,  21  32, 

31  28,  43  14. 
Horace  24  9,  43  15. 
Hume  36  5. 

Isaiah  25  21. 

Jesus  Christ  25  22,  26  13,  27  21. 
Job  6  22,  25  20. 

Livy  11  6,  8,  24  8. 
Locke  36  5. 
Lucan  15  l,  32  8. 
Lucretius  24  4,  32  1. 
Lusiad,  see  Camoens. 
Luther  32  22. 

Machiavelli  20  33. 

Msevius  45  8. 

Michael  Angelo  36  20. 

Milton  10  5,  20  6,  30  4,  16,  29,  31 
5, 10,  32  10, 15,  36  19,  39  32  (Par- 
adise Lost  30  20,  31  19,  39  32). 

Moses  25  20. 

Nonnus  32  8. 
Ovid  24  9. 

Pacuvius  24  3. 

Petrarch  28  22,  32,  33  17,  36  18. 

Plato  9  8,  25  29,  27  11,  17,  29  14. 


82 


INDEX  OF  PROPER  NAMES. 


Plutarch  11  6. 
Pythagoras  27  18. 

Quintus  Smyrnaeus  32  8. 

Raphael  36  20,  43  17. 
Regulus  24  22. 
Riphseus  30  12. 
Rousseau  29  20,  36  6. 

Shakespeare  10  5,  17  22,  29  20,  36 
19  (King  Lear  17  6,  9,  14). 

Socrates  15  21. 

Solomon  25  21. 

Sophocles  21  33  (CEdipus  Tyran- 
nus  179). 


Spenser  15  l,  29  20,  43  18  (Fairy 

Queen  32  14). 
Statius  32  9. 

Tasso  15    l,   29  20,  42  23,  43  16 
(Gerusalemme  Liberata  32  13). 
Theocritus  23  2. 
Timasus  27  18. 

Ulysses  12  11. 

Varro  24  3. 

Virgil   24  4,   30   12,  32  3,  43  15 

(^ineid  32  12). 
Voltaire  36  5. 


ANALYSIS. 

THE  ELEMENTS  AND  PRINCIPLES  OF  POETRY. 


I.    Poetry  the  Expression  of  the  Imagination,  as  distinguished  from  that 
of  the  Reasoning  Faculty,  1  1—11  12. 

A.  Inferiority  of  reason  to  imagination,  1  1 — 2  5. 

B.  Poetry,  which  always  exists  in  the  infancy  of  society,  is  a  prod- 

uct of  the  soul's  imitative,  yet  creative  activity,  2  1—3  31. 

1.  Occasioned  by  impressions  from  without,  2  1 — 3  2. 

2.  A  reflex  of  the  social  sympathies,  3  2 — 31. 

C.  Poets  are  those,  the    creative  activity  of  whose  imagination 

causes   the   purest   and   most   intense   pleasure  to  others, 
3  32—5  19. 

I.  The  language  they  employ  marks  the  before  unapprehended 
relations  of  things,  and  its  very  words  are  fragmentary 
poetry,  4  27—5  19. 

D.  The  harmony  perceived  and  rendered  by  the  poets  is  mani- 

fested not  only  through  the  medium  of  form,  sound,  and 
color,  but  also  through  inventions  and  institutions,  5  20 — 6  26. 
I.  To  the  poet  distinctions  of  time  and  place  disappear,  and 
his  intense  perception  of  the  present  is  also  a  discovery  of 
the  future,  in  so  far  as  the  sequence  of  events  is  disclosed 
as  orderly  and  organic  to  the  eye  of  his  soul,  5  31—6  26. 

E.  Yet  language  is  the  best  medium  for  poetic  expression,  because 

less  refractory  and  more  plastic  than  any  other,  6  27 — 7  32. 

1.  Poetry  may  be  denned  as  those  arrangements  of  language 
which  are  effected  by  the  creative  imagination,  6  31—7  17. 

2.  The  fame  of  other  artists  and  originators  inferior  to  that  of 
poets,  7  17—32. 

F.  Poetry  rhythmical,  but  not  necessarily  metrical,  7  33—10  7. 

1.  Translation  of  poetry  impossible,  since  its  music  can  never 
be  reproduced,  8  8—25. 

2.  Distinction    between   poets   and   prose   writers   a   vulgar 
error,  8  26—9  33. 


84  ANAL  YSIS. 

3.  Creative  poets  and  persuasive  original  philosophers  prac- 
tically identical,  9  33—10  7. 
G.    Superiority  of  poetry  to  history,  10  8—11  12. 

I.  But  the  fragments  of  a  history  may  be  poetical,  1033— 
1112. 

II.   The  Effects  of  Poetry,  11  13—33  26. 

A.  Poetry  gives  delight,  11  16-12  7. 

B.  Poetry  is  an  instrument  of  moral  improvement,  12  7—13  14. 

I.  And  this  notwithstanding  the  moral  conventionalities  of 
his  time  and  place,  which  the  poet  cannot  help  observing, 

12  19-13  14. 

C.  Poetry   more    efficacious   for   good    than    moral    philosophy, 

13  15-15  4. 

I.  But    poets    must   not    moralize,  in   the   restricted   sense, 

14  21-15  4. 

D.  Historical  review  of  European  poetry,  15  5 — 33  26. 

1.  Grecian  poetry,  15  5—23  22. 

a.  The  perfection  of  the  lyric  and  the  drama  at  Athens 

will  serve  as  the  index  of  Athenian  greatness  in 
general,  15  5—21  8. 
aa.  The  Athenian  drama  in  the  main  superior  to 

every  other,  16  6 — 17  30. 

a.  Reservation  in  favor  of  tragicomedy;   King 
Lear  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  dra- 
matic art  in  the  world,  17  2 — 30. 
bb.  The  degeneracy  of  the  drama  always  connected 
with  the  elimination  of  its  poetry,  17  31 — 
218. 
a.  The  ennobling  effects  of  the  drama  at  its 

best  estate,  18  12—19  12. 

B.  The  decay  of  the  drama  accompanies  the 
decay  of  social  life;   the  Restoration  plays 
are  an  example,  19  13—20  20. 
y.  Necessity  of  regenerating  the  drama  when 
it  has  been  debased,  20  21—21  8. 

b.  Inferiority  of  the  Alexandrian  writers,  though  creative 

imagination  is  not  yet  wholly  extinct,  21  9—23  22. 

2.  Roman  poetry,  23  23—25  5. 

a.  Poetry  an  exotic  at  Rome,  23  23—24  17. 

b.  The  Romans  excelled  rather  in  the  poetry  of  action, 

24  17-25  5. 


ANAL  YSIS.  85 

3.  Poetry  under  Christian  influences,  25  6—33  26. 

a.  Christianity  the  cosmical  principle  of  a  world  other- 

wise anarchic,  25  6-19. 

b.  Effect  of  Hebrew   poetry  upon  that  of  Christianity, 

25  20-25. 

c.  The  darkness  of  the  Middle  Ages  results  from  the  ob- 

scuration of  the  poetic  principle,  25  25 — 27  6. 

d.  Efflorescence  of  Christian  poetry  about  the  eleventh 

century,  27  7—28  1. 

e.  The   abolition   of   slavery  and   the   emancipation   of 

woman,  28  1-15. 

f.  Poetry  revives  among  the  Provencals   and  with  Pe- 

trarch, 28  15-31. 

g.  Dante  the  great  poet  of  purified  and  exalted  love, 

28  31-29  19. 
h.  Italian,  English,  Spanish,  and  French  exponents  of  this 

new  poetry,  29  19-32. 
i.  The  strength  of  their  insight  made  Dante  and  Milton 

superior  to  their  times,  that  is,  heretical  in  some 

of  their  views,  29  33—31  27. 
j.  Dante  and  Milton  stand  respectively  second  and  third 

among  epic  poets,  not  even  Virgil  being  worthy  of 

so  exalted  a  place,  much  less  Ariosto,  Tasso,  Camo- 

ens,  or  Spenser,  31  28—32  14. 

k.  Dante  the  leader  of  Italian  reformers,  poets,  and  hu- 
manists;  the  successive  unfoldings  of  poetic  truth, 

32  15-33  15. 
/.  Italian  poetry  caused  a  revival  of  the  other  arts,  and  of 

English  literature,  33  16-21. 

III.  The  Superiority  of  Poetry  to  Science  and  Political  Philosophy, 
33  27-40  13. 

A.  Two  species  of  utility,  corresponding  to  two  kinds  of  pleasure', 

the  higher  producing  a  pleasure  durable,  universal,  and 
permanent,  the  lower  a  pleasure  transitory  and  particular, 
33  27—34  17. 

B.  The   mere   reasoner   useful   in  a  limited  sense,  yet   he   must 

beware  of  exceeding  his  appointed  limits,  34  18 — 35  11. 

C.  Poets  and   poetical  philosophers    produce    the   higher   pleas- 

ure, though  one  that  is  inseparable  from  pain,  35  12 — 
364. 


86  ANAL  YSIS. 

D.  The  world  could  have  dispensed  with  critics,  reasoners,  and 

political  philosophers,  but  never  with  poets,  36  5-33. 

E.  At  present,  calculation  has  outrun  conception,  and  deeds  do 

not  keep  pace  with  knowledge,  37  1—38  2. 

F.  Poetry  would  give  us  an  enlarged  power  over  things,  38  3-15. 

G.  Poetry  the  centre,  the  life,  the  essence  of  all  science,  38  16— 

395. 
H.    Poetry  incapable  of  being  produced  at  will,  39  5—40  13. 

IV.  The  Diviner  Sources  and  Effects  of  Poetry,  40  14—44  27. 

A.  Poets  visited  by  transient  inspirations,  which,  in   recording, 

they  transmute  into  immortal  benefits  to  mankind,  40  14— 
41  21. 

B.  Poetry  exorcises  evil,  enhances  beauty,  reconciles   contradic- 

tions, banishes  the   commonplace,  and  creates  the  world 
anew,  41  22—42  24. 

C.  The  poet,  as  poet,  is  the  happiest,  best,  wisest,  and  most  illus- 

trious of  men,  42  25 — 43  31. 

1.  But  as  man,  being  more  susceptible  to  pain  and  pleasure, 
he  is  more  sorely  tempted  than  others,  43  32 — 44  23. 

2.  Still,  the  purely  evil  passions  have  little  control  over  him, 
44  24-27. 

V.  Concluding  Observations,  44  28—46  32. 

A.  Digression  concerning  the   particular  occasion  of  the  essay, 

44  28—45  20. 

B.  Announcement  of  a  second  part,  to  be  a  defense  of  modern 

poetry  in  particular,  45  21-26. 

C.  This  poetry  likely  to  be  the  precursor  of  a  new  spiritual  awak- 

ening to  England,  45  26—46  3. 

D.  Poets  the  unconscious  heralds  of  larger  dispensations,  46  4-32. 


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